I don't own Les Miserables.
CHAPTER 2
"You must go slowly." Cameron says, placing his hands gently on my back and shoulder with the delicate care of a doctor.
"Thank you for your help, monsieur." I push away his hands firmly, the muscles in my shoulder screaming in protest. But I bear through it. "But I can no longer intrude on your hospitality."
"Please, I insist that-"
"Stop it!" I push him back with all of my meager strength. "Stop it, right now! I am leaving here and you can't stop me!" I try to stand, but I waver and Cameron holds me up by the elbow. I try and tear it from him, but I can't find the strength.
"You can't even stand on your own two feet. And you expect me to let you wander the streets of Paris, all alone?"
"I know my way around." I retort.
"No, this won't do. I will have to escort you." He stands and smiles simply.
"What are you talking about?"
"I'm talking about you having yourself a partner in... Whatever it is that is in so urgent need that you must see to it in such condition as yours."
"Don't be serious." I tear my arm from his grip, finally finding my balance. "Why should I go anywhere with you?"
"Because I," He leans in close to my face. "Am a doctor."
I roll my eyes but allow myself to consider what he says. I can barely walk. Maybe having someone to watch out for me wouldn't be such a bad idea.
"If you slow me down," I growl. "You're left behind, got it?"
Cameron's eyes light up. "Thank you, mademoiselle. You won't be sorry."
I'm already sorry, I roll my eyes and shuffle out the door, Cameron close behind.
The streets of Paris are as dirty and bustling as ever. Beggars, whores, thieves, nothing has changed. Only the glint in a man's eye there, or the frown on a women's painted face here makes me think something is amiss.
"Where to?" Cameron says, his exuberant voice loud and booming. Strangers stare, some snickering.
Stupid Americans, I allow myself to think. I don't say anything, just start walking towards the cafe with as little of a limp as I can. Cameron trails behind, asking random questions about everything. Did anyone ever clean the outside of their homes in the city? Where did the rich keep their horses? How were the school in Paris? In a way, I'm glad for his chattiness. It allows me time to forget my pain, in only for a little while.
The ABC cafe almost looks the same. Same, defiant aged wood exterior, same warm feeling that permeates the surrounding stone. Bits and pieces of the barricade can be spotted here and there. A broken chair, the scattered keys of a smashed piano. No one is out, at least, no one I know. And right now, I'm only looking for one person.
I step into the cafe and my voice bubbles out of my throat. "Annette!" The short, stout women who runs the cafe looks like she's seen a ghost, almost dropping her entire tray of drinks. Which is partly true. Her ruddy face falls slack and no words find their way out of her mouth as I approach. She steps forward, holding my arms, completely detached from the noise of the cafe.
"Annette, Annette." I find myself tearing up, but I don't know why so I don't permit myself to cry.
"Eponine..." Her voice is like her face: scared. "You're... You're alive."
"I know. I know. I'm alive." I find my voice tumbling out stupidly and suddenly, Annette has me in a hug that sends screams through my shoulder but soothes my heart. I grip her fat body tight, allowing myself three seconds to indulge in her care. I pull back and she is crying profusely.
"Eponine, oh, Eponine, it was awful." Her face is all red and torn up with anguish. "Everyone of them, every single one, killed. Slaughtered till their blood ran red, stained the streets, took days to wash off. Eponine, their voices, they kept crying out and they were so..." She brings her hand to her face. "They were so brave."
My heart is beating fast and the sorrow buried deep inside me threatens to burst out of the thin cage I've trapped it in. But I swallow it down and say, "Everyone? Every student was killed?"
She nods. "Even Gavroche wasn't spared."
Gavroche, little spunky Gavroche, dead, lying next to every single student slain. Enjolras, his stern face so full of hope. Marius, Marius... And the line leads to me. I can barely keep my grief at bay, I am gripping Annette so hard that I must be causing her pain, but she says nothing.
"Where..." My voice is breathless. "Where did they take Marius? His... His body, where did they take it?"
"Marius.' She thinks for a moment, long enough for the smallest spark of hope burst in her face. "Marius... They didn't. They didn't take him."
"What are you talking about?" Surely his rich uncle would give him a proper burial, no matter how revolutionary he was. I just need to see his grave, I just need to say one more goodbye. That's what I need...
"They didn't take his body, because it wasn't there." Annette said, her voice getting faster. "He wasn't there. They told everyone that every revolutionary was killed, but Marius, his body was not at the barricade."
"That means-"
"Now wait," Cameron interjects suddenly. "That doesn't mean a thing. Maybe they picked his body up early, maybe it got into the sewers."
"Who are you?" Annette asks sharply.
"I'm a doctor." Cameron defends himself. "I'm taking care of Mademoiselle Eponine."
"Well then," Annette nods. "You two can take a seat and have a drink. On the house." She turns away.
"Annette!" I grab her arm. "Are you sure? Are you positive? Are you sure he wasn't-"
"Listen girl," She pulls me in close and whispers in my ear. "I can tell you that he wasn't there and that's all because that's all I know. That doctor man is right, it doesn't mean a thing. Don't go doing something crazy because of it, alright?" I nod absently and she pats my cheek sweetly.
Cameron pulls out a chair and helps me sit. I'm too numb to notice the chivalry. Annette brings over two glasses of cheap wine, but I don't touch my glass.
Marius could be alive. He could be alive. He could be alive.
I realize that hope is one of the most dangerous things ever.
Because, if Marius is alive, he'll find that Cosette is gone, across the sea to England. He'll be alone and he'll need someone. I remember the vivid sight of his face over me, the warm sensation of his arms around me. His loving words washing over me and the darkness took over. Surely, surely he would be with me now, surely he would see that was were out paths led.
Cameron takes a sip out of his glass then asks, "Now what, Mademoiselle?"
"Now," I say firmly. "We find Marius."
