Chapter XI

This might be it. Today might end it all. I might get to see my friends again today…

Enjolras felt a small smile in his heart as he thought these words. Today was feeding day, and therefore, beating day. Enjolras did not think that he would survive today. There were wounds covering his entire body, all of them inflamed and infected. At the slightest movement, shift of his body, tensing of his muscles, his wounds broke open and started bleeding. He was so weak. He knew the end was coming. It would not be long before he died of thirst, or starvation, or blood loss, or infection. He knew he was dying. Everyday he felt that he was getting closer and closer to the end of the tunnel.

Enjolras sat still on the ground, leaning back against the pole, his eyes closed. It would not be long before Javert returned. First, he would force him to drink some water and to ingest some bread that was so stale that eating it was like trying to chew a rock. Then, Javert would question him. Enjolras would refuse to speak. 4461 would appear and give Enjolras another beating. Enjolras would be left unconscious and bleeding.

But Enjolras looked past all of this. He was not sorrowful for the events that were soon to come. He was not afraid. In fact, he welcomed these events.

When a woman is with child, she does not anticipate the hour of the baby's birth with fear because she dreads the pain of labor, but she looks past that hour of agony and to the much longer lasting joy that will come after it. Her happiness for seeing her new child is too great for her to even remember the pain, and so she forgets about it.

That was how Enjolras felt now. He did not think about the agony that he would feel as the lash struck him, wounding him, destroying him, killing him. To him, this was just the short time of darkness that would be followed by an eternity in the light. He was sure that just as soon as the pain hit, it would all be over. He was sure that this was going to be the final beating. He was sure he was going to die.

Than, what would he do? He would get to see his friends again. He wondered what he would say to them. He had so much he wanted to say to them. For a brief moment, it crossed his mind that they would be angry with him for killing them, but he was sure that they would forgive him. They would be happy to see him. He would be happy to see them. He wondered if he would cry. He never let his friends see him cry, never once. But he was not sure that he would care anymore. He would just be so happy to see them that he did not think he would care about anything else.

I'll get to see Grantaire, again, Enjolras thought, and a warm light came into his heart. Then, he would be able to fix everything that had ever happened between them. He would thank Grantaire for standing beside him until the end and apologize from not being able to save him. Then, he would apologize for every bad thing that he had ever said to Grantaire. He had ever right and reason to be, but Enjolras did not think Grantaire would be mad at him. Grantaire would forgive him, just like all the other boys. And then, they would all live together forever in a free world.

Black, the night that ends at last…

Enjolras heard someone come through the door. He opened his eyes and turned to look at the door. As he knew it would be, it was Javert. A bizarre smile appeared on Enjolras's lip. "Good morning, inspector," he said quietly, greeting Javert as a welcomed guest.

The look on Javert's face was so terrible, so hungry, so murderous that when he turned his dark eyes to fix them on Enjolras, Enjolras was certain that he was about to kill him. But instead of feeling fear, he felt hope.

At once, Javert strode towards Enjolras. He drew a knife out of his coat. In seconds, he was upon Enjolras. In one move, he slashed the ropes off his wrists with his knife, then, he seized Enjolras with both hands and yanked him to his feet. Enjolras felt his body being lifted off the ground and he could do nothing to resist. A moment later, he felt the terrible pain cut through his body, piercing every part of him, pulsing through his veins, penetrating through his flesh as Javert slammed him against the stone wall. At once, Enjolras could feel his wounds ripping open and blood began to flow down his body.

Enjolras's eyes pinched shut as his head slammed into the wall. When he opened them, the first thing he saw was Javert's terrible face, like the face of a raging lion, just a few inches away from his own.

Javert's voice thundered through the cell, echoing off the walls, shaking through the stone, making the ground tremble. "Who is Marius Pontmercy?!" Javert roared.

Enjolras stared uncomprehendingly at Javert.

Javert's face twisted with anger. "Answer me!" He slammed Enjolras against the wall again.

Enjolras could not suppress a soft cry as the rough stone of the walk tore his wounds apart. These stones of the walls, unevenly cut, were sharp and jagged and sunk into Enjolras's skinless body like the blades of knives sinking into a piece of raw, bloody meat.

Javert suddenly realized how deadly a weapon the mere stone was, the terrible pain that these stones were inflicting to Enjolras. Then he suddenly pushed Enjolras forward, slamming him against the wall, and, this time, he left him there, pressing him against the wall, the rocks digging into his back, cutting into his open wounds. Enjolras let out a cry of pain.

"Answer me!" Javert bellowed again.

"Let me go!" Enjolras screamed back at him. "Get off!"

Javert only slammed Enjolras forward again and the rocks sunk deeper into his flesh. Enjolras could feel the rock cutting into him. The pain was so terrible. Enjolras could not escape it. The daggers sank into his body. Pain choked him. Blinded him. Enjolras fought desperately against Javert's strength, trying to get away. But Javert was too strong. And he was too weak.

Enjolras heard Javert yelling at him, screaming at him, his voice reverberating though his head like a thunderstorm. He felt his body going weak. A moment later, Enjolras fell unconscious and Javert was left pinning what appeared to be a dead body against the wall. Driven with rage, Javert flung this body away, throwing it to the stone ground.

On the impact, Enjolras was awoken by the pain. His head slammed against the stone. He felt his ears pop, and a screeching sharp sound, like the blade of a dagger, pierced through his head, screamed in his ears. He could not see anything.

For a moment, Enjolras lay limply facedown against the cold stone ground. Pain pulsed through his body like a deadly toxin. He could not move. He lay there still, not moving, just barely breathing, his face pressed against the stone. His eyes were closed, as he waited. He waited to die.

Grantaire! Put that bottle down! There are men out here sacrificing their lives for your freedom and this is how you repay them?! By drowning yourself in a bottle to drink away whatever little wit you might have?!

Please, don't be angry with me, Enjolras. I wish I was strong like you, but I'm not.

Enjolras rolled his eyes. It has nothing to do with strength, Grantaire. It only depends on will, heart, and courage.

Grantaire looked sadly at Enjolras. Those are three qualities that make a great man. Those qualities come natural to a strong leader, like you. But I have none of them.

Enjolras scolded, his face changing in disgust. That's because you're too ignorant, too lazy, and too selfish to put the damn bottle down.

Grantaire dropped his eyes away from Enjolras and looked sadly down at the bottle in his hands. Without looking up, he muttered, so quietly that Enjolras had barely heard him, Enjolras, if I could be strong I would be… but I'm not strong… I'm not like you…

Enjolras scolded, turned his back on Grantaire, and began to walk away from him. Just as he was leaving, he heard Grantaire say one last thing, maybe to the boys sitting around him, or maybe, to himself.

I wouldn't even be here, right now, at this barricade where we all know that we will all die. But this is where Enjolras led me to, and this is where I followed him. I would follow him to whatever end. Into the dark. I know that I am weak and a coward… but Enjolras is strong. And he gives me hope.

The words that Grantaire had spoken at the barricade were nothing to him but something to scorn and roll his eyes at. But now he heard them strong and clear, not only with his ears, as he had before, but also with his soul. Enjolras opened his eyes. He was sure that, wherever he was, Grantaire was watching him now. Enjolras would not let him down. He had to stay strong. He had to die strong for Grantaire…

Enjolras weakly moved his arms, placed his hands on the stone beside him, and pushed himself up off the ground. His weak arms trembled beneath him, but he managed to lift himself off the ground. Then he forced his legs to start moving. He got to his knees. Pushed himself up. He got too his feet. He stood. Then, he turned around to face Javert.

Javert was glaring at him with that, dark, loathing hatred in his eyes. Enjolras glared back at him, standing strong. The same way he stood before Javert when Grantaire was by his side.

Javert suddenly came at him, holding his knife in his hand. He seized Enjolras with on hand and pushed him back up against the wall. Enjolras felt the pain hit him again, as the stones tore into his wounds. He gritted his teeth and did not cry out. Not a moment later, he felt the cold blade of Javert's knife pressed against his throat. He looked up and gazed into the eyes that blazed with dark fire.

Javert's face was so close to Enjolras's that when he spoke, Enjolras could feel his breath like, cold wind, blowing against his face. "Who is Marius Pontmercy?"

Enjolras stared at Javert. Who is Marius Pontmercy? Marius Pontmercy. Marius? How did Javert know Marius's name? It did not matter. Javert had his name, and now he wanted him to turn in Marius and his family. Enjolras looked into Javert's eyes and tried to read the thoughts behind them. At last, he spoke, "I don't know."

There was a suddenly flash of metal before Enjolras's eyes and a terrible pain cut across his mouth. Javert's knife had slashed him opening a bleeding wound that ran across his chin and into his lips. Enjolras turned his face away. His chin, his jaw, his mouth burned. It felt as if there was poisonous acid tearing across his face, eating away at his flesh, devouring him like a hungry beast. Enjolras felt hot blood running down his chin, tasted it in his mouth, saw it falling away from his face and dripping down towards the stone floor, like red rain.

Javert's hand seized Enjolras's face, intentionally grabbing the bleeding slit in his chin, which sent sharp pains shooting up Enjolras face, through his skull, and into his head. Javert yanked his head forward so that he had to look back into Javert's eyes.

"DO NOT LIE TO ME!" Javert roared into Enjolras's face. "Every time you lie, I am going to cut your mouth, until the point that you can no longer speak, and then I will start working on your tongue, taking it out piece by piece!"

Enjolras felt the way a man would feel if he were pinned against the wall by a ferocious bear that was hungry for blood and about to devour him. Enjolras stared into Javert's terrible face, too afraid to disobey him. He did not speak.

"Now, answer the question!" Javert's snarled. "Where is Marius Pontmercy?!"

Enjolras stared at Javert as his words ran through his head. Where is Marius Pontmercy…? That question did not make any since. Marius Pontmercy was dead. His body was heaved away and dumped into some pit with the rest of the men who had fallen in the battle…

A moment later, Enjolras watched something flash through Javert's hungry eyes. It was that look of fear, regret, anger that flashes across a man's face when he realizes that he has said something that he should not have, that he has given something away, that he has said too much…

Enjolras's heart suddenly lit up in flames. For the first time since Javert took him to this prison, his soul began to blaze with the same passion, the same pride, the same hope that burned within him as he lead the people to revolution. Enjolras opened his bleeding lips and spoke. "Marius is alive?"

Javert saw this light, this spirit, this joy pass through Enjolras's soul and illuminate his face and his own face suddenly became so angry and hideous that if the face of Hatred was tangible and a man was able to look upon it, they would have seen the same face that Javert wore now. "No, he is dead," Javert denied. "The only traitors still alive are you and 24601, and you will answer all of my questions and not ask any of your own!"

Enjolras looked into Javert's face and he no longer looked afraid. "He is alive," Enjolras softly spoke. When he heard the words come out of his mouth, he felt a deep warmth come into his soul. Marius was alive. He would never see him again in this life, but he was alive. Young Marius still had a life to live. And he would live it. Marius was free… The very thought of it, made Enjolras's soul leap for joy. Marius was alive. He had seen the look on Javert's face. He knew Marius had to be alive…

Javert hit Enjolras in the face. "All of your friends are dead! Marius Pontmercy was shot in the battle and died with the rest of them! Now, answer the question!"

Enjolras did not answer.

He knew what Javert said was true. The in his soul began to fade away. Enjolras had seen Marius get shot. He saw him fall… No, Marius was not alive… Marius was dead, just like all the rest of his friends…

Wait! There was something else that Enjolras suddenly he remembered. Something else he had seen. It had never even crossed his mind until this moment. Just after Marius had gotten shot and he fell to the ground, a man had rushed past Enjolras, out of the café, and to Marius's side. Just as Enjolras was blockading the door to the café, he vaguely caught a glimpse of this man dragging off Marius's body.

Enjolras suddenly felt a deep feeling of realization fall down on him like rain. Everything suddenly began to fall together. It still did not make since, but he could see where the broken fragments of this shattered picture were beginning to come back into place. Enjolras knew the man who had taken Marius's body. It was Jean Valjean…

Things were still not making since. Jean Valjean had taken Marius. Why? To help him? To save him? It was possible. But it still made no since that this man, this same man who had saved Enjolras's life, the life of many of the other boys, and, perhaps, Marius's life, as well, had also saved Javert's life. None of it made since anymore.

Enjolras tried to clear his head. There were some things that he knew for sure about this mysterious prisoner 24601. He knew Jean Valjean was a former convict who had escaped prison and was now on the run. He knew that Jean Valjean had come to the barricade, saved his life, saved Javert's life, and then told the rebels that Javert was dead. And now Javert was after the man who spared his life…

There was one thing that Enjolras did not know, the one thing that he wanted to know the most. Had Jean Valjean saved Marius? Was Marius alive? He did not know. He could not say for sure. Perhaps, the reason he was so certain that his friend had survived was because he was so desperate. Was Marius really alive? He did not know. But now, at least, there was hope where, before, there had been none.

Javert slammed Enjolras into the wall. "Answer me!" he roared again.

Enjolras felt the pain hit him. At the same time, as if the impact knocked the words into his head, he heard Grantaire's voice.

I would follow him to whatever end. Into the dark. I know that I am weak and a coward… but Enjolras is strong. And he gives me hope.

"You have one more chance," Javert warned him, his voice low and threatening. "Tell me now, everything you know about Marius Pontmercy!"

Enjolras opened his lips and a thin stream of blood was released out of the corner of his mouth and ran down his chin. Enjolras answered Javert on one word. "Never."

Javert hit Enjolras so hard he was knocked off his feet and fell to the ground. Enjolras barely caught himself before he slammed into the solid stone. Before he had time to even raise his head, Javert's boot, with the force of a bullet being shot out of a musket, kicked Enjolras in his side, pounding him like an iron hammer right in his broken ribs.

Crack!

The pain slammed into Enjolras like one of those terrible, crashing waves that smashes into the beach, crushing everything in its path. The wave sucks a victim under the water so that they cannot breathe, they cannot move, and they cannot feel anything except for the pain. For a moment, Enjolras felt the sensation that he was being thrown limply under the wave as it rolled furiously over the jagged rocks that emerged from the sand like tombstones in a graveyard. In reality, this only goes on for a few seconds, but to the victim that is trapped helpless under the crushing black water, it is a frightful eternity that, for a moment, the fear will never end. At last, Enjolras felt himself emerging from the abyss. He gasped, drawling a huge breath of air into his lungs. His body trembled with pain.

Enjolras heard Javert's heavy footfalls behind him. At once, Enjolras looked over his shoulder to see Javert coming towards him, like a mad bull in mid-charge. He desperately, on his hands and knees, drug himself across the stone floor and into the corner of the room, where he buried himself, curled up in the corner, rapped his arms and legs tightly against his body to protect himself, pressed himself against the walls, trying to become as small as possible, trying to get as far away from Javert as he could. But it was not enough to hide from Javert. Javert could not be escaped.

Javert threw himself at Enjolras, leaning against him with his full weight, practically crushing Enjolras's fragile bones and weak flesh, pinning him to the corner so that he had no where to go.

Javert pressed his knife tightly against Enjolras throat. So tightly that the slightest movement would have slit it open. Javert's terrible cold eyes blared into Enjolras's like cold, bitter winter casting a brutal and deadly frost into the young and innocent spring. Enjolras felt the ice crystals forming on his heart.

Javert spoke to Enjolras. His voice was so dark, so cold, so terrible that Enjolras's flesh, though drowning in hot blood, went as cold as the bodies of the dead and began to craw with gooseflesh. It was not the voice of a man, but of something far more treacherous. Like the voice of a creature that had emerged from within the darkest pit of hell.

"I am not. Afraid. To kill you."

Enjolras was weak, defenseless, and helpless. For a long moment, he stared back into Javert's murdering eyes, searching them for any trance of humanity. He found none. Instead, he saw only the beast that had murdered his friends and then thrown their bodies out for the dogs and vultures to feast upon.

Anger like fire began to burn through Enjolras's veins, melting the ice away. His face hardened, becoming dark, cold, and impenetrable, like stone. His eyes blazed with the fire that burned in his soul. He opened his lips and spoke in a low, terrible voice that was dry and icy like the bitter winter wind.

"Kill me."