I try to be as accurate as possible in regard to characters, settings, backgrounds, etc., however for this story I have integrated the feelings and emotions of the musical version of Javert simply because he is more likely to show them in the musical than in the book. Also, because our favorite Frenchmen are in a different story dealing with different circumstances, their reactions will be somewhat changed from the norm. Therefore, please take that into account while reading.
4
Javert barely slept. He had tried at first, stripped down to his shirt and trousers. The bed was comfortable, the room dark, the soft noise of the storm outside soothing. He had drifted off for half an hour when the creaking of floorboards reached his ears. He shot out of bed, rushing to Valjean's door. But as he waited, heart pounding, mind racing, he heard laughter and more footsteps. They were coming from the room above.
After that, he couldn't sleep. He redressed, made up the barely used bed and made use of an armchair in the front room. The rest of the night was spent in contemplation, trying to figure out exactly where he was, and how he had gotten there. The last thing he could remember was being assigned to gather intelligence about the revolutionaries in the guise of a civilian. He had listened to their drivel on the street corners of Paris. They were nothing but young pups who thought they knew something of the world. But they were traitors and he would see justice done. He would slip into their ranks, a willing and ready volunteer to their cause, discover their plans and plant any false information he could to disrupt their objectives.
He had not thought seriously about Valjean for a long time. Thoughts of the man still entered his mind from time to time, suspicions of whether he was still alive. It had been years since he had seen the convict hurrying away from his residence in the Gorbeau House on the Boulevard de l'Hôpital. He had escaped once again as if into thin air. But how had he come to be here? And where was that whore's bastard child he had had with him?
Valjean's words from earlier echoed in his mind. Dead? Impossible! And yet… the world around him was so changed he was unsure what to believe. Contraptions that seemed made of magic whirred all around him. His mother's stories, long forgotten in the labyrinth of suppressed memories, came floating back like a scent one cannot quite place.
He shook his head violently, scattering the thoughts that threatened his purpose. The only constant was the law. No matter how altered or distorted the world became for him he would always have a guiding light. And at this moment, when all else seemed blurred by uncertainties, his sense of duty rooted him firmly to his objective. He would not become distracted by such trivialities again.
A clock ticked away the hours till morning. He had managed to doze once or twice but it had been a restless night. There were no windows in the room he occupied and it wasn't until he heard Valjean stirring in the adjacent room that he became aware of the time. Groggily he checked the clock; ten minutes to seven. An awkward knocking was heard followed by a muffled voice calling for him.
Javert ignored the summons, settling deeper into the armchair with a sneer. He would decide when to let his prisoner out.
"Inspecteur? …Javert? Are you awake?" Javert scowled at the use of his name.
"Quiet you!" he shouted at his unfortunate captive. The man had spent too much time in stolen freedom and had forgotten how to respect true authority. He was no longer in a position of power and Javert would see that he remembered it.
He rested for a little longer then went into the kitchenette. Through the small window he could see that the storm had reduced in strength over the course of the night and he should be able to go out into it without too much trouble.
Satisfied that his prisoner was secure, Javert locked the front door and strode purposefully down the hall without a backward glance. He passed numerous residents on his way, no doubt trying to make up for lost time caused by the storm. Many people seemed to recognize him and showed it by either smiling or avoiding him altogether. The latter he was used to and approved of heartily but the cordiality made him irritable. People did not smile at Javert. He was an intimidating figure with a reputation that put fear in the hearts of every criminal that heard his name. He had once arrested seven outlaws who were so terrified of him that they had refused to fight. He had collected the band without firing a single shot. Yet now he was waved and smiled at like some friendly neighbor. Who did these people think he was? He scowled at the next person to smile and was quite pleased when they scurried off without a backward glance. His mood slightly improved, he retraced his steps, found the ground floor exit and braced himself for the biting cold.
Javert had never been so insulted in his life. He had told the officers at the police station of Jean Valjean's true identity, of how he was a convict and a fugitive of the law. Their response had made him angrier then he even thought possible.
"The new superintendent?" One of them had asked.
"No, the scoundrel masquerading as one!" The men had laughed in his face then, commenting on how he must be one of the "newcomers," and told him to go home and sleep off whatever he'd been drinking the night before. They had been cheeky and disrespectful before but this was beyond his level of patience. Javert had been so outraged by the experience that he hadn't tried to press the matter any further and stormed out of the building into the wind and snow.
"Those are no officers of the law!" he growled between clenched and slightly chattering teeth. "They aren't worthy to wear a uniform… Damn this accursed weather!" He shivered, his jacket not much help against the snow that blew in his face and down his neck. His greatcoat and hat had been left somewhere before his initial encounter with Valjean the previous day. Strangely enough he still had his cane but it did him little good now.
Finally the complex came into sight and he hurried to get inside. Once out of the snow he shook the flakes and cold off his jacket and made his way back upstairs. But the warmth of the building only penetrated skin-deep, leaving his heart icy cold. The frustrations of the day weighed heavily upon him. If the police did not recognize a villain when they saw one, he would have to do his duty as an enforcer of the law and take matters into his own hands.
Another chapter down. Please tell me what you thought of it.