He had let him live. Why had he done that? The pain he felt now, the confusion, was much worse than when they were beating him. He could not live in the debt of a thief, a denier of the law. This man, this devil, had let him live, purely to see him die by another's hand. This man, Jean Valjean, was nought more but a trick, a test. A test which he had failed. Javert thought all of this in a second. Knowing what he intended to do now and, knowing he was damned for what he was about to do, he began ascending the steps, singing softly, voicing his confused, angry thoughts for what he knew would be the last time. He sung about Valjean, the monster that had haunted him for years. He had spent what seemed like his entire life chasing him and now, now that he had spared his life, it felt meaningless. He had been so sure he was right, so sure he was fighting for the law, a noble cause but he was wrong. Valjean was less a monster than he, Javert, was. The more he thought about it, the more he realised: He was the devil. He was the one in the wrong. He could not live with the fact that he, an officer of the law, was worse than a thief.
Valjean had spoken true, he was the stronger man. Javert's head span as he sang softly into the night, now standing on the bridge, overlooking the Seine. He was damned, he knew it. He looked into the night, at the stars he had once adored and he saw them, empty. They could not save him now, no-one could. He could not believe it had come to this. He looked down at the river, the last sight he'd ever see and he cried. Javert, the man who had remained determined for over a decade, cried. He stepped down. He was too weak, too scared to jump. He heard a voice in his head, that of Valjean 'You did your duty, nothing more'. The words seemed hollow and empty now. His duty had done him no favours as of yet and had served him with this, this nightmare. He had walked among the bodies at the barricades, young men who had died fighting for a cause truer than the law. They had died fighting for the greater good, fighting for the people. Javert paced the side of the bridge knowing that, even as he stood there, Valjean was proving himself better than him, saving a man's life.
The only survivor of the barricades, Marius, was being saved by Javert's obsession, Valjean. That man had haunted him ever since he had met him, the day he was released. 24601 was how he had known him, a number, not even a name. Valjean, he realised, was more human than he could ever hope to be. 'Those who follow the path of the righteous, shall have their reward' Those words rang in his head, wondering if he was following the path of the righteous or if he was, like many others, deluded. He knew nothing now, nothing of who he was and what he was fighting for. He decided that he was no longer the man he was before. He could no longer be that wretched creature that delighted in lesser men's discomfort. He was changed, a new man. Justice had not been done, nor would it ever be, not for Javert. Valjean was the better man by far, he knew this, but that did not mean he could not be a good man, too. The night around him blew and the river looked more morbid than ever. It looked black and cold, as he had just described the stars a few minutes earlier. The world, however, looked full of hope, something Javert had not seen for many, many years. He looked at the buildings that surrounded the river, full of people, with lives and families. Once, he thought, he had made it his job to destroy those he thought were in the wrong. The stars seemed brighter than ever, now. It was a new beginning, a new story to begin. He could change, as Valjean had all those years ago. He may never be as important as him, but he could try his best to help those who needed it. He set off into the night, a new man.