Inspector Javert liked to think what had happened on the night of December 24th 1823 was not just a coincidence. Jean Valjean had yet again escaped his grasp once more with the girl Javert wished to have get to before Valjean could have. Now that Valjean had the girl, he probably had run off somewhere hoping that Javert would not find him. But Javert wouldn't allow that—Javert wouldn't rest until that thief would be caught. Until that prisoner, 24601, was finally put behind bars and in chains where he belongs.
Walking around a corner in the streets of Paris, hoping to find Valjean lurking somewhere, a cry sounded from off in the distance. Acting on his instincts of work, Javert headed towards the cry only to appear at a house where the door was open just a crack—enough for him to open and get into. Holding a grip onto his gun at his side, he entered the house slowly, his shoes clicking against the floor. Receding at a slower pace, Javert looked around, his grip tightening on the gun just in case someone would come out and attack him at any second. He entered a small parlor with a fireplace, a portrait hung up on the wall in a frame, and a rocking chair near the fireplace. There were some soft plush chairs near those, and lying on the ground next to that in a pool of blood were two bodies—a man and woman. Walking slowly towards them, Javert inspected them from a distance, his grip loosening on his gun but only for a split second as he looked them up and down; the man looked to have beaten until death with a blunt object—maybe a log or a stick. The woman on the other hand looked to have been harassed—raped most likely—until she was stabbed, the blood pooling out from her side, her eyes open into a blank stare, her mouth open just a crack as if she were to call out something.
A soft cry came from behind Javert, and he immediately reached for his gun, swiveling around only to find nothing but a wooden armoire facing him. He headed towards it, cautiously, lifting his gun up as he approached, his steps quiet as he neared the armoire. He could hear a muffled sobbing coming from within. Hesitantly, Javert reached for the handle of one of the doors to open the armoire, and yanked it open, gripping onto his gun again only to see a young girl with long dark locks of hair and the brightest amber eyes he had ever seen. A look of fear crossed over her as she saw the gun in his hand, and Javert quickly lowered his weapon.
"Bonjour, mademoiselle," he said, giving her a small bow. He spoke with a quiet, gentle voice—a voice you would think would be unlikely to hear from Javert—as he tried not to scare the young, frightened girl even more. "Are you hurt anywhere?"
The girl shook her head, biting her lip and looking around. She hadn't said a word yet, though Javert couldn't blame her. She was most likely scarred from the massacre that had happened in her own home and to her parents as well. Now this young girl was orphaned—even at such a young age as well. "No, Monsieur. My Mama told me to hide in here." Her voice was soft and quiet and Javert had to strain to hear her speak. "She spoke in a hurried voice and I knew that something bad was happening. I could hear shouts coming from outside and she shoved me in here, saying she loved me very much and that she didn't want this to happen, and that no matter what happens that I don't move or make a noise and plug my ears so I can't hear anything happening."
Her voice was so calm, Javert was slightly startled. But he saw the way the young girl shook and trembled and he knew she was full of fear. Her cheeks shone in the moonlight shining in, noting that she had been crying and her cheeks were now tear-stained. Javert nodded, then looked back at the bloody corpses of her parents. Her parents looked no older than their late thirties maybe—the look of young adulthood was still like a mask on their face. No graying hair, let alone a wrinkle to their faces. Taking a breath, Javert looked back at the young girl. "Come with me. Close your eyes, and don't even take a peek."
The young girl looked quite startled, but she nodded, stepping out of the armoire, her eyes closed. Javert noticed her clothing did not look like it came from quite a poor family, but not an extremely rich family either—maybe somewhere in-between? Although that was quite rare seeing something like that happen. Javert almost forgot that there could be middle-class compared to all the beggars he saw in the street and all of the rich that would talk strolls in the park.
Taking the young girl's hand, Javert guided her outside of the home, and then lifted her up, carrying her the rest of the way. Her eyes remained closed, and she buried her face in the crook of his neck. Javert felt awkward this way, but he didn't stop as he carried her to the nearby hospital, where a group of nurses checked to see if everything was healthy and if she was alright and not harmed. Javert then ventured back to the apartment where a group of soldiers he had gathered inspected the place, and took the bodies of the young man and woman. Javert walked along the edge of the balcony outside, thoughts clouding his mind like fog. He thought about the young couple who had been brutally murdered only just a short while ago. He thought of the young child who was now in the hospital, who had just become an orphan. But mostly, he thought of prisoner 24601, who was now free inside the walls of Paris, with a little girl no older than the one Javert had found just a mere hour earlier.
Javert swore he would find Jean Valjean. He would not only find Jean Valjean, though, but the young innocent girl he had taken away.
He swore upon the stars.
The sun had begun to rise, Javert headed back to the hospital. The nurses greeted him curtly, nodding to him as he walked by and one nurse stood in front of him, nodding towards the bed of where the young girl sat. She was playing with a doll that the hospital had given her, brushing away the hair, and stroking the porcelain cheek. "We decided to give her one good thing, to take her mind off of the horrible occurrence that had happened earlier," the nurse explained when she saw Javert was inspecting the doll; it looked quite expensive—very expensive for a hospital to give to her so freely. "She has a small case of anxiety and she's a little shaken up, but she's not injured or harmed in anyway. It will take time for her to feel better, though. But she's been asking for you." The nurse nodded towards the young girl who was now smiling at the doll, cradling the toy in her arms.
Javert nodded and walked towards her, making the young girl snap her head up in alarm, then her eyes soften when she realized who it was. "Bonjour, Monsieur," she said. "Thank you... for saving me. I thought—" her voice caught and Javert didn't need her to finish her sentence to know what she was going to say.
"Bonjour, mademoiselle. May I ask what your name is?" Javert asked, looking at her. The young girl blinked, and then smiled, nodding, looking at the doll.
"My name is Elaine," she said. "Elaine Durand."
"And I am Javert," he said. "How old are you, Elaine?"
"Huit ans," Elaine replied, blinking. She looked quite healthy, as the nurses had said, but she was quite small. Her bright brown eyes stared back up at Javert. She then smiled, putting down her doll, shocking Javert slightly. A girl who had just experienced such a traumatic tragedy could smile so suddenly,and so brightly? It would seem almost impossible.
"From now on, Elaine, I will be looking after you. You won't have to worry about being afraid ever again, because I will be here to protect you." Javert wasn't expecting what was happening next—instead of walking away like he had planned, Elaine smiled wider and brighter ever than possible, and then reached forward and hugged him. The gesture froze Javert. He had never experienced such affection—never before had someone shown such affection towards the Inspector. Maybe Elaine wasn't the only one who had been given faith and a blessing today... but Javert as well.