A/N: The wrap-up to this horror saga...and back to sanity for them all! Thanks to everyone who's taken an interest in this weird little experiment.
Epilogue: Light
Jean Valjean knows that it's exam season again when the weather starts becoming too warm for a good night's sleep and when the stores on his street start running out of energy drinks and coffee. Even the little pharmacy that Fantine has put up isn't spared from the onslaught; the refrigerator needs to be restocked at least twice a day.
So of course he does a double take when one morning, while helping Fantine check the store's inventory, he finds that they have run out of sleeping pills. "Am I reading this right?" he asks.
Fantine lets out an 'oh' of surprise when she catches sight of the item he has pointed out on their list. "You are. Is something wrong?"
"It's not usual," Jean Valjean says. "This has never happened before, not in the past two years we've been running this place."
Fantine checks the list again and hums as if she is trying to remember something. "I remember who bought the last of these. Jehan."
"Jehan Prouvaire?"
"Do we know any other?"
Jean Valjean laughs before realizing that Fantine's look is still serious. "There is something wrong."
"Jehan bought some, and so did Musichetta. Feuilly asked for a few of those too, and I remember that Courfeyrac, Bahorel and Grantaire also asked for some the day before that," Fantine points out.
Jean Valjean is silent at the mention of Cosette's close friends, the same young people he can't help but sometimes treat as if they were also children of his own. He knows of their peculiarities for things such as forbidden poetry and grilled odds and ends of meat, but these quirks rarely require anything pharmacological in nature. Something must be up if they are suddenly having trouble sleeping, especially en masse.
At that moment Cosette comes downstairs, all fresh and ready for another day shift at the hospital where she has recently begun working as an ER nurse. "Cosette, darling, how have your friends been?" Fantine asks her. "Some of them came here yesterday looking for sleeping pills."
Cosette's jaw drops. "It's gotten that bad?"
"What's gotten bad?" Jean Valjean asks. "A communal case of insomnia?"
Cosette's pretty face reddens, a clear sign she has divulged something she shouldn't have. "Things have been a little weird lately, well since the time we helped Bossuet move into his new apartment."
Something about Cosette's tone is haunted, as if she herself has had a touch of trouble too. "What is weird?" Jean Valjean presses on.
"I'm not sure how to explain it...but it's like something from that apartment stuck to most of us," Cosette says. "The previous owner moved out in a hurry, and so did some of the neighbours. Bossuet left for the night and stayed over at Bahorel's a few days ago. I don't know if he's slept in the apartment since then."
"What about everyone else?" Fantine asks.
"I'm not sure but there's something about a mirror in Jehan's place and everyone getting the heebie-jeebies or nightmares. I heard that Jehan, Azelma, Feuilly, Grantaire, and Courfeyrac all slept in a hostel one night since they were so frightened," Cosette shrugs and rubs her eyes. "Ghosts don't follow people, do they?"
Fantine gasps. "Where did you get such an idea, Cosette?"
"Unfortunately it's not unheard of," Jean Valjean says. As far as he knows, most spirits in the city are territorial, hovering near ancient trees and stones, or perhaps lingering where they had last assumed a corporeal form. Yet now and then there have been stories of those who prefer hosts instead of haunts. Have these youngsters inadvertently disturbed one of those?
His next clue comes in the form of Enjolras, who turns up later that afternoon looking even more pallid than usual. The sight of him is a little horrifying; he seems to have returned to the jumpy, acerbic caffeine addict he was years ago, with none of the coolness and charm that usually characterizes his manner. "Good afternoon Mr. Fauchelevent," the young man says as he barely holds back a yawn. "Have you got anything for insomnia?"
"Yes but I'm not giving any of it to you," Jean Valjean replies firmly but gently. "Cosette told me that you've all been having some difficulties lately."
"The past couple of weeks have been rough," Enjolras admits. "There's the situation with Bossuet's apartment; Cosette must have told you about it. Then something happened at Jehan and Azelma's two nights ago, bad enough for everyone to stay up."
Jean Valjean sighs at this confirmation. "Tell me, how is Eponine holding up?"
Enjolras' tired face turns grim. "She has been having very bad nightmares, but she won't get help for them," he replies in a voice that betrays his extreme worry and strain.
"Are you sure they are only nightmares, Enjolras?" Jean Valjean asks. The young man's shocked silence is the only answer he needs. Clearly he has his own internal debacle with this strange situation, one that cuts deep into his own waking world. "What does she say they are?"
"Ghosts."
"You don't believe in them."
Enjolras nods furiously. "Well except for that one night..." he mutters. "It was bad. We found baby shoes in the room, and somehow she recognized them as having belonged to her brothers. Not Gavroche. Two more little babies she had never told me about since she barely remembers them. Apparently they died suddenly when she had to be hospitalized. Now they're apparently coming back to haunt her."
Jean Valjean looks down as he takes in this disturbing narrative. "You don't know what to do for her."
"Yes, more so since none of this makes sense," Enjolras says.
"It shouldn't." Jean Valjean sighs again, knowing that there is no easy way to explain the old beliefs to someone of axioms and logic. "It's probably not haunting as much as it is attachment."
"Attachment?" Enjolras asks slowly.
"Maybe Eponine doesn't remember them consciously, but does that mean she ever stopped loving those boys?" Jean Valjean points out. He sees how the shock and horror on Enjolras' face turns into a knowing ruefulness; he of all people should know the kinds of bonds that Eponine tends to form. "What about the story of Jehan and Azelma?"
"They say it's about a mirror," Enjolras replies exasperatedly. "Jehan got it from a relative."
Jean Valjean nods before asking Enjolras a few more questions about Jehan's and Bossuet's respective situations, and then giving him a few packets of calming tea. "You probably don't need to tell Jehan this, but you have to get rid of that mirror as soon as possible."
"I see. What about Bossuet's apartment?" Enjolras inquires.
"I'll talk to him," Jean Valjean promises. He rubs his temples when Enjolras finally leaves, after promising to give him an update about Eponine's state of mind. It's never easy dealing with matters that bridge the fine line between the dead and the living.
The next morning, Jean Valjean rises early to see to some early chores before setting out alone. He brings with him a small vial of holy water and an old rosary, the latter being a gift from a priest he once knew. As he passes by a newsstand, he catches sight of a broadsheet article decrying the digging up of a cemetery in a southern town. He takes a moment to check the name of the place, and then brings out his phone to make a call.
"Good morning Eponine," Jean Valjean greets. "How did you like the tea? Good. You might want to check the Manila Inquirer's front page today." He pauses to look at the newspaper in front of him even as he listens to the harangue on the other end of the line. "I know, Enjolras told me some of it. As soon as you two can, you'd better fly south for a visit there. The fresh air would do you both good, and I think it's time for you to pay your respects. Don't worry; it's an advanced birthday present. Keep me updated and enjoy the tea. See you and Enjolras soon." Somehow the click of the phone when Eponine hangs up is reassuring, and bolsters Jean Valjean's resolve for the next part of his mission.
When he arrives at Bossuet's apartment he finds the tenant already in the process of boxing things up. "Moving so soon?" he asks by way of greeting.
Bossuet lets out a rueful laugh. "I can't sleep here."
"So I've heard," Jean Valjean says as he helps Bossuet lug out some of the closed boxes.
"I think it was because of the funny chest in the corner there," Bossuet says, gesturing to a musty portion of the apartment.
"A chest?"
"The sort to keep clothes in. We moved it down to storage, but in hindsight maybe we shouldn't have moved it at all."
"I see," Jean Valjean says. There is no need to ask if Bossuet has ever opened it; in fact something tells him that any further meddling might have led to even more horrific consequences. He cheerily helps Bossuet pack up the remainder of his belongings and bring them downstairs to where Joly will pick them up to move back into his and Musichetta's apartment. "By the way what happened to your neighbours?" he asks as they wait for Joly's car.
"Left for the province. I think they have less leaky lodgings there," Bossuet says. "I don't want to know what they might have heard."
'Let it go untold of,' Jean Valjean decides as he watches Joly's car pull up to the tenement. Theirs is a story he will have no part in, and perhaps is better resolved elsewhere.
After the young people leave, he asks for the concierge's permission to venture into the storeroom to look at the dangerous chest. The old lady shudders visibly at his request. "That vile thing! I had to get rid of it, it was taking up so much space!"
"What happened to it?" Jean Valjean asks.
"I burned it," the lady says, waving her hand in the air as if to ward off a lingering stench. "No one wanted to even pick it up!"
Jean Valjean shivers, more so when the lady shows him the backyard where she burned the chest. The concrete there has turned black, a vile indelible stain that remains as the sole testament to that which should never be disturbed. The shadow seemingly trails him as he slowly walks upstairs to the vacated apartment. He does not see the steps he takes as he repeats familiar prayers in his mind, letting the reassuring words ground him in the daylight.
He throws the apartment doors wide open to let in much needed air and light, something he doubts that Bossuet has had the time to do even on better days. He does the same to each window, banishing shadow after shadow in that tiny room. At last the place is bathed in sunshine, and it seems as if the very walls are drinking it all in. Jean Valjean finally takes a deep breath as he looks about; he has no idea if anyone will care to live in this place after, whether to bless it or sully it further, but for now the inexplicable calm here is enough.