Je T'aime

Maruis' death was unexpected. The pale horse whisked him away, leaving me to face the world alone. Here in my late father's house I have everything I could ever want; but I lack what I need so desperately. My bed is vacant, cold, and unwelcoming. Oftentimes I find myself in a daze, reaching for a person who is not there, wishing for that which does not exist. My hands meet an unoccupied expanse of air; and each time this happens my heart breaks a little. I am plagued relentlessly by nightmares.
The words Je t'aime are engraved on my soul. The mark is fresh, and will never disappear. I won't allow it. To allow it to wane away is to admit I have accepted his weakness, his deficiency of immortality. He was my savoir. He was invincible. But upon his death that peaceful illusion was shattered into millions of bits and pieces. And I don't have the energy to put them back together. So there they stay, and I watch them. The illusion exists in a broken form. But it still exists. If I dispose of the pieces, I betray him. If I allow the mark to fade away, I fail him. So I watch.

Bretagne is claimed to be the most historic province in all of France. I was called by a distant friend of my father's, Laurent Depardieu, to the city of Rennes a day ago. Allegedly Laurent had heard of my husband's death and intended to cheer me with a bottle of his famous wine. I tried to decline his invitation, accepting only when his messenger informed me that Monsieur Depardieu would consider it a great insult if I rejected his hospitality. Never one to wish a stain upon my father's reputation, I reluctantly ordered a carriage to be prepared and left.
And now here I sit, being tossed roughly about as the carriage weathers the bumpy road. The weather is dark and dismal; a perfect personification of my mood. According to Laurent's messenger, my journey would take a total of four days if I traveled at a leisurely pace. Not wishing to wear out the driver nor the team of Marius' favorite horses, I planned accordingly. We would reach Bretagne in four days, spend the night, and return. I had no wish to stay far from my father's house for an extended period of time.
Je t'aime. I shook my head violently to annihilate the voice, his voice, causing the fastenings in my hair to become undone. With a sigh I let the remaining strands of my hair down. Etiquette was of little importance to me. Society's rules were so fragile, so volatile. They were lithe trees that bent in favor of the direction of the wind. Marius, however, had been a strong oak, with his roots embedded deep in the ground. He held fast to his ideals. I often wonder if that is what took him but five months after our marriage. God did not even allot me enough time to conceive a child.
I harbor no tangible memory of him. All I have is that phrase: Je t'aime, and his expression when he said it. He did not say it often, but when he did, he washed all my fears away, cast them back out to sea. As long as I had him and his love, I was safe from the prowling monsters of the ocean. Now, they feed on my flesh unmercifully. But I survive regardless. I survive in honor of that one, single statement. It is my armor.
"Madame!" cried the driver, breaking into my reverie. Giles had stopped the carriage and I heard muffled voices outside, along with the shuffling of hooves. The voices were distinctly male. I cautiously rolled up the window shade to see two large stallions with riders attired in black. Unable to distinguish anything concerning the riders, I waited for Giles to open the door and escort me down from the carriage. Once my feet were planted on the earth I looked up at the two mounted horsemen.
The first man was extremely young; I guessed him to be 18 or 19. Brown bangs partially shaded light green eyes, forcing him to shake his head continuously to clear his vision. His posture spoke of excessive pride; his expression was that of mere astonishment. I nodded politely to him and then directed my attention to the other rider.
The second man was much older, but yet, it was not his physicality that gave his age away. It was instead his aura; he had suffered much, and the fire that burned in the hearts of most humans had long been extinguished within him by some inexplicable event. The most remarkable feature about the elder police agent was his eyes. A light shade of grey converged with ice blue, creating a kaleidoscope of color in the irises. His dark hair was tied back in a ponytail; rather curly, it was, but at the same time perfectly controlled. An angular, pale face rounded out his appearance, which only accented the cold look of his eyes. He sat straight and tall in the saddle with the feisty horse reigned up into his command. I lowered my own eyes and turned to the younger man.

"May I inquire as to why we are being stopped?" I said. Their uniforms marked them as members of the French police, but the fact that they were patrolling a country road and not the city baffled me.

"Your name, please, Mademoiselle," the young man said uncertainly.

My stomach lurched and I steadied myself by resting a hand on Giles' shoulder. "Madame," I said shortly, not wishing to reveal the remainder of my name. I eyed him with obvious distaste. "And you are?"

He opened his mouth to speak but one look from the older man made him reconsider. He rushed on: "That is no matter, Madame. You are being stopped because it is believed that your carriage is carrying contraband."

Giles snickered at this, and I couldn't help but follow suit. "I am sorry, but I can assure you we carry no contraband. C'est amusant."

The other man glared at his comrade and dismounted swiftly from his large mount, landing on his feet with such grace and elegance I was taken aback. He strode forward; each step carried a sense of purpose, a sense of accomplishment. When he was but five feet away he bowed curtly and spoke.
"My apologies, Madame," he said. "I believe my friend and I owe you as much. We mistook your carriage for someone else. There is…" he stopped talking for a moment and studied my physical appearance. A hint of recognition gleamed in his eyes, a light that flickered a direct warning to me. Not understanding his abrupt change of mood, I prepared to inquire after it, but I was not given the chance.

"Inspector Javert…" interrupted the young man. "The renegades are approaching. Ten men on horseback and a carriage. I believe we may have found our target."

The man called Javert returned immediately to his mount. He glanced at Giles and me and said, "Madame Pontmercy, I suggest you wait inside that carriage." Without any explanation to how he knew my name, The Inspector climbed aboard his horse, gathered the reins in his hands and took off towards the renegades. The younger man followed, casting a glance at me on his way by.

"Giles?" I said, my eyebrows nit in confusion.

"Madame, I highly recommend we leave." Giles' voice was strained.

"But the Inspector told us to wait."

"Do you honestly not recognize him?" Giles glanced surprisingly at me, his warm brown eyes honest and true. "I thought he had died…" My driver shook his head and rested his hand on the side of the carriage. "He knows who you are, Madame. Your life is in great danger. I fear him more than those rogues who are fleeing from Paris."

"Is he a friend of my father's?"

Giles exhaled slowly and wrung his weathered hands. "Madame, please trust me. Let us go. Monsieur Depardieu will protect us once we are in Rennes."

"They are prefects from the French police, Giles. We have nothing to fear." I crossed my arms. "Besides, if he knows who I am, then that means he must have been in acquaintance with either my father or Marius. And that is definitely good. Do you not agree?" I said forcefully.

"But of course, Madame. However…"

I quickly tuned old Giles out. In the distance I could see both the Inspector and his companion caught up in a brawl with five of the horsemen. The other five were racing towards Giles and me. My heart leapt; I couldn't die. Not here. I may have wished for death several months ago, but I didn't now. I knew the only way to keep his memory alive and thriving was for me to stay alive as well.

"Giles…" I whispered, my throat closing up. "We cannot flee. They are too close. What will we do?"

Giles motioned towards the carriage. "Get in," he said. "Perhaps they will pass us by."

I looked to the riders again. They were steadily approaching, and two more horsemen had joined them. I saw no sign of the Inspector or his comrade. They had disappeared in the swirling dust.

"But what of you?" I asked, trying to ignore the rising fear in my stomach.

"I'm old," was his only reply. He came towards me, insisting that I get back inside the carriage. However, we were given little time to formulate a plan. The renegades did not stop when they came upon us; however, their leader, with barely any effort, grabbed me as he swept by. I screamed and reached for Giles, crying out when he was knocked away by the rider bringing up the rear. I fought the man ferociously, but his arms had me locked in an iron embrace. Desperate, I went as limp as a rag doll, in which I was able to slip out from under him and fall to the dirty road below. When I hit the ground I heard my arm snap; pain shot through my entire body, blurring my eyesight. I stifled a sob and rolled away quickly, clearing myself from the hooves of the riders' horses. As I struggled for breath, I was able to make out the figure of the leader and his horse looming over me. I groaned and closed my eyes, trying in vain to conjure a picture of Marius' face in my mind…

After several moments I realized I was still alive. Cautiously, very cautiously, I opened one eye halfway, wondering if the leader had decided to spare my life. Instead, I saw the Inspector, beaten and bruised no doubt, with Giles slumped over the back of his horse. The leader lay in the dirt, his neck broken. I shuddered and attempted to turn away. The Inspector instantly saw that I had regained consciousness and crossed to my side, his breathing labored. I sat up, biting my tongue sharply when my left arm moved from its original position. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, which had become undone from its restrictive bonds. He looked younger, but yet extremely uncomfortable with his appearance. His hair was wild and uncontrollable when not pulled back.

"You have broken your arm, Madame Pontmercy," he stated with an air of indifference. "Giles requires a doctor, as does my comrade. They both carry sufficient wounds. Apparently you need a doctor as well." He grimaced as he bent down to pick up a pocketknife. I saw that a deep gash scaled the length of his shoulder. The blood had stopped flowing, and I was thankful his outfit was black. I had no wish to see how much blood had stained his clothing.

"You're injured as well," I said, motioning to his shoulder. He shrugged and straightened up, hiding his pain behind a mask of stone. "It happens when one devotes his life to the law," he spat bitterly.

"We're at least a three days ride from Rennes," I said, grinding my teeth together as I shifted positions. "Is there a doctor nearby? Inspector?"

But he wasn't listening. The Inspector was staring at the limp form of the renegade. A vicious smile played upon his lips.

"Inspector?"

He jerked his head up and turned to me. "Yes?"

"Do you know where the closest doctor is?" I inquired, shaking as the pain began its inevitable toll on my exhausted body. "We cannot stay here."

"No, indeed you are correct, Madame Pontmercy. We cannot stay here."

"Then what do we do?"

"None of us are fit to ride. I daresay we may have to wait here until someone passes by. It shan't take too long."

My heart beat quickened. "That is not an option."

"Why ever not, Madame?" he inquired, his tone dangerous.

"Giles is old. He may die if we wait for too long," I said quickly.

"But it is a risk we must take. If we try to ride, we may as well condemn ourselves to death here and now." The Inspector headed over to the carriage, which he had somehow managed to move a distance of at least one hundred feet while injured. "I'll place Giles and Pierre inside and shall keep lookout. You should most likely rest."

I watched him as he moved the two wounded men into the carriage. Although severely hurt, he still carried himself with a sense of dignity; his stature spoke of man accustomed to being in charge. I did not like falling asleep in the presence of a person I barely knew, and my arm throbbed unmercifully. Regardless, when I felt myself start to drift off I succumbed, hoping that my dreams would carry me far, far away.

I awoke not much later to find my arm cast in a temporary sling and the Inspector standing alert, resting his tall frame against the carriage. An ugly purple bruise had arisen at the base of his neck, and his wound was still open and gaping. I then realized that we had not been helped yet. And unfortunately, judging by the position of the sun I knew at least four hours had passed.

"Why has no one come?" I asked, forcing myself into the sitting position.

"Not many people travel by this road. It is the slowest route to Rennes," he said. "They have built new roads since then, but I doubt Giles knew about their existence."

"Apparently not," I said. "And neither did I."

He looked down at me, an odd hint glowing in his eyes. I returned his stare and said, "May I ask how you know my name? Were you a friend of my father's?"

The Inspector laughed then, a hollow laugh, a laugh filled with malice and spite. A deadly chill crept up the length of my spine and settled on my shoulders. I wished vehemently to be back at my father's house.

"Valjean and I were never friends, Madame Pontmercy."

"Then what were you?"

"He never told you the story?"

"He told me of a French prefect who pursued him relentlessly, but it was presumed the man committed suicide by throwing himself into the Seine." When the Inspector's face clouded over, I knew I had struck a mark. "You're that man?" I inquired incredulously.

"Providence did not grant me the blessing of death," he said cynically. "I was spared to live out the rest of my life in perpetual misery. I returned to the police force two months after my suicide attempt, but just recently I was reappointed Inspector and joined the French ranks once more."

"You arrested my mother," I said, my father's story bombarding me like a tidal wave. "You were going to let her die."

"Yes."

"How could you?"

"The human race does atrocious things, Madame Pontmercy. Your mother was a prostitute."

"So she deserved to die?" I inquired, my blood boiling.

"That is not what I said. She by no means deserved to die; I merely was willing to allow her to die if Providence commanded it. She sold herself; sold Providence's greatest gift. There are few crimes that can surpass that."

"But my father spared you."

"Oui, he did." The Inspector stared out over the vast expanse of land, his eyes surveying the landscape.

"And you feel no shame for the pain you have inflicted upon my family?"

"I let your beloved husband pass by, did I not?"

At the mention of Marius I quickly closed my eyes, anticipating the tears that were about to come.

"You did."

"I believe we are not in each other's debt, Madame Pontmercy."

I thought about what he had said, and then pointed to myself. "So, since I am the product of a prostitute's sinful act, you should have allowed me to die as well." He tried to draw a veil of apathy over his face, but I fought to rip it off. "You saved me from the renegade leader. Why?"

He attempted to appear nonchalant. "I chose the lesser of two evils."

"It can't quite possibly be that simple."

"It was, I heartily assure you." I had lost; he replaced the mask of ennui with a triumphant air.

"You lie."

"Think what you wish, Madame Pontmercy. I could've allowed him to kill you and then finish him off myself, or still kill him but spare your life. You didn't deserve to die by the hand of a traitor. I would've failed in my police duties if I permitted him to kill you."

"I'm touched," I said sarcastically.

"Glad to hear of it."

We were silent for a while, observing the sun as she made her descent from the sky, allowing the moon to take her place. When the horizon was lit with an orange glow the Inspector sunk down to his knees, weariness finally forcing him to rest. I in turn got to my feet and began to walk, carefully supporting my arm as I did so.

"Don't travel too far," he cautioned. I halted my jerky stride and smirked at him.

"Of course I wouldn't dream of it, Inspector Javert." I bit my lip to keep from trembling. Marius' voice was still haunting me; nighttime always made the pain of losing him more real, more acute. I mock bowed towards the Inspector, ignoring his fierce glare.

"You should let it heal," he said softly, his voice a low purr. My jaw dropped and I stared down at him, not believing what I had heard.

"What?"

"Dispose of the pieces and move on. You're killing yourself, Cosette. I highly doubt Marius would want that. He would want you to live."

I looked away from the Inspector; the anger that had been crouching in my stomach like a patient animal waiting to strike finally burst free from its shackles.

"You have no idea what this…" I stopped in mid sentence and screamed. The Inspector was gone; there was no sign of his horse, or his companion, Pierre. I blinked several times; wondering if I had dreamt the encounter, if I was hallucinating, if, in my grief, I had drunk something that caused drowsiness. Nothing made sense. I urgently made my way over to the carriage to check on Giles' status. He was laying on the seat, his eyes trained on the hood of the carriage. When I rested two fingertips on his neck I discovered that he had no pulse. Giles was dead. I stumbled backward, tears streaming down my face as I collapsed on the ground. Heaving, I struggled to regain control of my breath support, only to find my efforts were in vain. Tears choked my throat and I clawed the dirt, embedding soot into my nails. Nothing mattered anymore. And far off in the distance, a voice whispered across the plains, causing the grass to sway gently. It ricocheted off the corners of my mind; filing all the cavernous spaces of raw human emotion, emotion I could no longer control. Je t'aime, je t'aime…

La Fin

Author's Note: I obviously utilized a lot of artistic license in the creation of this short story. I based my knowledge of Les Miz off of the movie and the musical; seeing as the novel weighs in at roughly 1,400 pages I have not yet had time to read it. (I'm a rising senior in high school; please cut me some slack). Forgive me if I got some facts incorrect. This story was more symbolic than anything else. Please review; I adore constructive criticism and I love to hear what my readers think about my work. You can never say too little.

Disclaimer: I'm not Victor Hugo. Therefore, I'm merely borrowing these characters. I do not intend to make any semblance of a profit whatsoever.

I dedicate this piece to Mr. Knollman, who taught me not to fear.