Les Mis is not mine, and I make no profit in writing fics. It's just an outlet for my overactive imagination.
His breath caught in his throat as he gasped, hands stuck by his sides. He tried to twist them around, managed with some struggling to press them against the wood that separated him from the dirt. It had been a mistake to rush after the man. He should have waited for Raoul to return from sending someone to fetch more officers.
It was too late now. Javert was stuck. It had been at the funeral home. He had been knocked out from behind as he had crept inside to apprehend Girard. He tried to keep his breathing calm. Raoul knew he was here and the man was not an idiot. He would realise that...
Javert let out an angry huff of breath. What exactly would Raoul realise? Javert knew his head was bleeding, he could feel it seeping out, spreading from the throbbing wound on the back of his head. He was pretty sure there was another injury on his temple, but he could not see. It was too dark... it was so dark. No light...
The light was so far away. He pushed up; the wood was too heavy to shift, but he was sure he heard it creak. Was that a creak? How strong was this coffin he was in? Was it strong enough to hold back the mass of mud and dirt above him? How deep was he buried? He thanked God it had not been raining when he had last seen the skies. Rain made the earth heavy. He did not want any more weight above him.
Why was the boy taking so long? They should have found him by now! Raoul must be some kind of imbecile! There would be blood on the floor, and it would not lead them out the door! He had to be bleeding enough to leave a trail! He was so thirsty. He had been working all day- all evening too! He had not stopped for rehydration since early evening. His mouth was dry...
Was that another creak? Javert tried to bring his hands up, wanting to cover his face. The coffin was too tight a fit. He could not get them past his chest... it was taking them a long time to get here. There was a coffin missing up there, a policeman disappeared and a freshly dug grave! How difficult would it be to put the pieces together?
He wondered if he would be given a funeral. The thought struck him as funny, and he chuckled. They would have to bury an empty coffin, if they did. It would be empty, because his body already filled a coffin. If only they knew, it would save on costs. He chuckled, high and rapid; it was almost a panicked giggle, except Javert was not panicking. He was completely calm. It was pointless thinking about funerals. He would be rescued soon.
Would anyone attend his funeral? There would be officers, those bound by duty, they would attend. Would the mayor? He was a handsome man, Javert had always thought. He was handsome and thoughtful, he always insisted on sitting beside Javert on a Sunday morning.
He wondered if he would go to Heaven. He had tried to be a good man, to stay away from evil... what if Madeleine was right, though? What if to get into Heaven you needed mercy? Did he even want to go to Heaven? Sitting about doing nothing? It did not sound like paradise...
Madeleine had once said in Heaven, you could have what would make you happy; that if you were unsure as to what that was, you did not need to worry. God would always know how to make you happy. Javert supposed that was good. He did not know how to make himself happy in this life, how could he know what would make him happy for eternity?
He'd find out soon enough... No. He would survive this. It was awfully hot though, he was sweating, beads dripping down his body. How long had he been here? Was this heat the sun's influence? Surely it had not been a full night. How long did it take to get him out?
He shifted slightly. How much air did this thing hold? Would the mud above prevent him from getting anymore? He held back a whimper. His eyes stung, water trickling from them; it had to be his sweat. It was his sweat that caused them to burn, because it was hot in here.
There was a crack. Javert could not prevent the wail that left his lips. There was a great pressure on his leg; perhaps the wood there had broken. He focussed on breathing. It was important to keep breathing. He may be able to hear voices when people came, then he could shout. It would hurt though. His throat was so dry. It was painful now. He had to breathe though his nose, it may dry out his throat quicker through his mouth.
He felt sick. He felt thirsty. He felt weak. He was an idiot. How could he let some fool catch him like this? He must not have checked everywhere when going into the room. How had the man come up behind him? Girard was slippery though, like some kind of sea creature.
He had been known as 26730 at Toulon. He had been a quiet young man, the sort who lured his prey in before biting. His stay had been lengthened for killing convicts on three separate occasions. The magistrate had ordered his death at last; there had been no case to save him, after all.
The man terrified Javert; he could not even find any shame in admitting it. He was deceptively small, but he had a mind for angles, and where to hit the human body to cause the most damage. There was only one form of execution now, according to the state. 'Tout condamné à mort aura la tête tranchée', meaning 'Any person sentenced to death shall have his head cut off.' It meant they could not torture anyone. He had always hated the screams he could hear, as a child imprisoned with his mother, he had hated the torture inflicted on people, being able to hear them beg for an end, to hear them sob.
Perhaps... it was harsh to think this, and he knew men like Madeleine would be able to rise above such feelings, but perhaps it would not be wrong for this man. He tore people apart, limb from limb. The organs had been missing from the men he had been arrested for killing. He had hinted many times at what had happened to them... how tasty a heart was, how delicious the liver... Did he know what a kidney looked like? How curious the appearance of the brain, a thing to control everything everyone did, how it smelt as it cooked...
This was not helping settle his nausea. He wriggled slightly, feeling a tug on his leg. It hurt. His bladder hurt. He had not relieved himself in some time. He was in no position to curl on his side and ignore it. Surely Raoul would be here soon. Even with lanterns they could not miss the fresh grave. No one had their funeral at night. He'd be found... soon, surely...
This time, he would make sure the man did not escape on his way to the guillotine.
Javert was still thirsty, his tongue felt heavy in his mouth. How long did it take to get here? He felt light-headed. Maybe his wound had stopped bleeding, he could not tell...
Was it daytime yet? What would the morning bring? What if Girard was still here? He could hurt the men looking for him. Javert frowned at that. He did not want to die, but he was not so important that others should die in the search for him. Perhaps they had begun to spread out from the home, to search elsewhere... he hoped they would be safe.
He tried to pray to God, to ask that he watched over them. He could not make the words form in his head. Was that a creak? There was no noticeable increase in weight, but it would not be long... he felt his bladder relax, felt the warmth as he failed to stop himself. At least the worms did not care...
He wondered if worms had thoughts, not the same as human, but could they feel fear, and hunger? He tried to imagine being a worm. It would be easy to escape. The air would not be crushing in on him. The earth would not be crushing him.
He wished Madeleine was here. With his inhuman strength, the man could get him out. Imagining it was the mayor's strong arms that held him held; pushing himself into the fantasy pushed the panic back slightly. Javert tried to imagine the smell of the man. The few times he had gotten close enough, he had smelt most amazing. The inspector had always wanted to bury his face in the man's neck and inhale...
Could worms smell? He would not want to be a worm if he could not smell... he could often tell where in the town he was, just based off the smell. The few times he had caught a cold, he had been unable to smell properly. It had been most disconcerting trying to work through it.
Would his throat rip if he did not get a drink? It was starting to feel that way, like a graze when you fell on rough stones...
There was a noise above him, and then another creak. What was it? Perhaps Girard was coming back to kill him properly... his thoughts of safety in the mayor's arms fled. He began to panic again. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to think. He wanted to close his eyes and sleep, but he could not tell if his eyes were open or not. He would check where his eyelids where, but he could not move his arms. They hurt too.
He gasped slightly... had that been a voice? He tried to shout, to get someone's attention, but his voice cracked painfully, and only a squeak escaped. He scraped weakly at the wood, wishing he could make more noise. Did they know he was here?
He giggled slightly, nothing more than a shuddering gasp really, but a thought had struck him; the worms might have told them. He tried to imagine Picard conversing with a worm. His lips cracked as he grinned.
"Javert?" The voice was weary. He wriggled some more, unable to speak.
"Javert?" Came the same weary tone a few moments later. Was that Madeleine he could hear? He put more effort into speaking. It was painful, but he managed a noise. He licked his lips, he tasted blood. Was he bleeding? How odd...
"Javert?" the voice was startled; it began giving directions, shouting for people to dig. It asked for a shovel...
He wanted to answer, to keep the voice talking. Perhaps God passed that message on, because the voice started up again.
"Are you in there, Javert? You need not worry; your officers have caught Girard."
Perhaps it was his imagination, but the air seemed lighter, less imposing, all of a sudden.
"We will have you out soon. I apologise it took so long. I saw your officers while they were trying to find extra shovels to get you out. Your men are most dedicated."
Did that mean it was the mayor then? Javert would blush at the idea, but he was finding it difficult to do anything but lie there. Even shifting his head seemed like too much effort.
He listened carefully, trying to catch and process every word Madeleine spoke. It was difficult. Some of the words were hard to hear over the ringing in his ears. He hoped the worms were out of the ways though. He did not want them to get hurt after they had kept him company. They had been separated by the box he was in, but it was no fault of any one worm he had been too slow to notice Girard.
There was a thump above him, followed by yells. He listened as the wood was pulled away. His eyes slammed shut. It was so bright. A cool hand covered his own, and someone began to pull him out.
Javert kept his eyes shut, unable to take the pain. He allowed himself to be pulled up and cradled in someone's arms. There was a lot of activity going on around him, lots of shouting... he took a deep breath and realised he was in Madeleine's arms. He could recognise the smell.
It took effort to open his eyes. He hurt all over, and trying to get his body to do anything seemed like a task, but he managed to blink through the light to see the man.
Jean Madeleine smiled gently down at him, the brilliant blue of the surrounding sky made him seem almost like an angel. Javert sighed and allowed his body to relax, falling fully into the man's arms. He was safe.