Caught Red Handed

Valjean had no idea how it had happened. After he´d fled the Bishop´s place with this huge bag of silver, things had started to blur. He couldn´t remember how he´d gotten away, only that he had lost a piece, right after he´d been out the door.

He remembered the impact of the plate on the ground, and the devastating noise it had made. He remembered his heart leaping in fear, his senses speeding up and running ahead of him. Just like he ran away from the Bishop. Faster. Just faster. As fast as he could on his bare feet. The feet of a poor man. A desperate man. Too desperate to let anyone catch him again. Not after all these years. He couldn´t go back. Never. Ever.

And then it had happened. The thing he would later on barely remember in detail. But he´d remember the blood. Too much blood. Way too much. How did this happen?

All he remembered was a voice, calling out for him, harsh and demanding. And yet, he wasn´t sure anymore, if this harshness had even really been there. Maybe it had been his haunted mind suggesting it. Maybe he´d been so full of guilt – of course, he was a thief on the run, in the middle of the night – that his mind had abandoned him, leaving him to the nocturnal thing in the depth of his soul. The dark soul that would do anything to survive, whether there really was a present danger or not.

And this was what he´d done. Dear God. What had he done?

Valjean was kneeling, in the dirt, ignoring the cold that slowly crept into his limbs. He barely felt it. All he could feel was dread. Pure horror.

The lath was still lying before him, on the cold ground. Splintered. Drenched in blood. And the man. The old man … Valjean didn´t even know his name. He didn´t know who he was or what he´d done out here in the middle of the night. Surely not hunting criminals on the run. Surely not trying to arrest him. But dear God … he´d called out for him. Had approached him. And now … Valjean sank even deeper to the ground, hands gripping what was left of his scrubby hair, and just sobbed. Uncontrollably. What had he done? Why? WHY!?

Somewhere in the distance he heard voices. Too far away to understand words. But they were there. Awake. No sleepy villagers. No way.

The nocturnal thing took over, yet again, banning all despair of its human host into the farthest corner of his mind, and Valjean jumped up. He had to move. Move and get away. But first he had to cover up his mistake. If they´d find this man there wouldn´t be a place on earth where he could hide from them.

Quickly he dragged the old man off the road, faster even than he would have thought himself capable after this night. Somehow he managed it to reach the edge, where the land gave way to a deep and beautiful dell. A dell too steep for anyone to ever climb down there and look for something they might have lost. Even a person. Very soon nature would take care of this body, leaving no trace of what had happened in this night.

Valjean pushed him over the edge.

He could hear the sounds of it hitting the rocks and rolling down, deeper and deeper, until the sounds finally stopped. Where exactly would forever remain a secret. Even to him.

He threw the bloody lath down as well, and went back to the road, to the bag full of silver. Silver he had just payed the highest price for. His soul. His conscience. His very humanity.

It didn´t change anything. If he wanted to live he had to move on. And fast.

He came until the end of the path.

...

It was unbelievable. How did this happen? How did he end up in the convent again, and not in prison? After what he´d done?

We caught this man red handed. The officer had no idea how right he was. Dear God. And now?
Valjean knelt on the floor, shaking violently. The hands he held out in front of himself, were red. Not just figuratively. This time it was real. Oh God, what had he done?

The Bishop had granted him forgiveness. Had lied for him, to save his soul. And now? One stupid word from the sister, not more than a warning, to better not forget what the Bishof had said or he´d be back in prison. One stupid word had been enough and this something inside Valjean, the beast that fought for survival and survival alone, had taken over.

He couldn´t allow this. He simply couldn´t risk, to be brought back there. What if they changed their mind? What if this sister convinced the old foolish Bishop about his mistake? Even if Valjean would leave right away, he wouldn´t come very far. They´d catch him again and then everything would be over. He´d never see the sunlight again, never breath fresh air, except on that day when they´d finally lead him to the scaffold.

This guard Javert would be right in the end, and he would be dead. Long before they executed him he´d be dead inside. He couldn´t … just couldn´t go back there. Ever.

It was him or them. And the beast inside chose him. Of course it did. He had no choice.

But dear God what was the price? All these lives. What for? For him? Him?

What was happening to him? None of this was ever meant to happen. He was a man once. A human being. And now? What was he now? A monster, nothing more. A murderer, who killed for his own profit, no more no less. Sweet Jesus, what had he done?

The letter in his hands suddenly weighted tons more. As if it could drag him down, should he fall into a deep water with it, to drown him in all his sins. Javert was right. Dear God he was right.

Valjean didn´t know how long he sat there, in this chapel, hearing the guard´s words over and over again in his mind: "You´ll starve again. Unless you learn the meaning of the law."

No. No. This couldn´t happen. This could not be true. This simply couldn´t be the end of it all. He still had a chance. He was alive after all and free and that meant he could still keep his promise. The one he´d made to the Bishop. These lives must not have been lost in vain. The silver had been a gift, and he would use it. Just like he promised. This letter would not be his warden any longer, Javert´s long arm of the law. No. His life would not begin and end with it. His life would begin anew, right now. It had to. HE had to. Or he would have really condemned himself to hell.

The Bishop would forgive him, he knew. He´d seen it in his eyes, just before he turned the knife and took the man´s life for good. He´d looked at him with pity. Pity for this lost child that Valjean was. But not anymore. He would turn over a new leaf and he would change his life. Jean Valjean had to go away and never return. Jean Valjean was a thief, a murderer, a monster. And a monster could not be a good man. Someone else could. He knew he could.

And he would.

He swore it, by the lives of the people he had taken. By their souls. He would do better in his new life. He´d leave the murderer Jean Valjean behind and become a better man. An honest man.

A new name, a new life. A new story. And this time it would be different.

All right people. With this in mind: Happy New Year :)

I´d been thinking about writing a piece like this for quite a while. Practically every time I heard them say: "We caught this man red handed."

Well, what can I say? I love exploring the possible monster inside a human mind. Especially when it comes to people like Valjean. I think it worked.

But please, don´t hold back if you think differently.

Was it believable for him to have done these things and still become the man in the story? Would the story take a different path after this? I don´t know. Feel free to share your theories.

And thanks for reading.