Author's Note: Hello everyone and welcome back! We're close to the climax of the story, and I've had lots of ideas on how I want to approach it, and quite frankly, all of them are rather dark and twisted, as Jehan is one sick character, and I feel like anything less than that would be a disservice to his character, at least how I envisioned him. I've re-written the final climax of the story 3 times now, and each time feeling like I have to re-do it, thinking it too dark since this supposed to be a mix of the Disney story mixed with bits and pieces of the La Jolla musical with Michael Arden, who I admittedly have a soft spot far. I might have to change the rating to M, and for that, if it's not your thing you can skip, but bare with me as I work on constructing the finale and try to give Jehan the fitting end that I feel like he deserves.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Captain Phoebus and Esmeralda watched the distraught bell ringer restlessly pace the mezzanine of his south tower loft in agitation, back and forth he went in a repeated motion until the captain was quite sure that the floorboards of Quasi's loft would have permanent indentations of his footprints. His gloved hands had dug so far into the skin of his palm, the nails piercing the calloused flesh that Phoebus was surprised the boy's hands hadn't started bleeding yet. Phoebus let out a sigh and pinched his nose with the bridge of his thumb and forefinger.

Zephyr, meanwhile, lingered at the entryway of the balcony's terrace near the three gargoyles.

"Zeph, why don't you go on out to the balcony?" Esmeralda questioned, looking towards the more stoic and put together of his three stone companions. She still could not quite believe that after all this time…they were alive. "You'll watch him and keep an eye on him?" she questioned the oldest, the female.

"Always," murmured Laverne in response, clapping Zephyr on the back and hopping out onto the balcony. "Any friend of our boy's and his wife is like a family to us."

Esmeralda gave a curt nod as the gargoyles led her son out onto the balcony away from the conversation, for their son did not need to hear news of this caliber.

She turned to Phoebus and rested her hand on her hips. "Is there any hope, Phoebus? For Madellaine? What could be done to get her back? Where might she have gone to?"

"I've got my men combing the entire city for her, we'll find her, Quasi," he reassured in what he hoped was a soothing voice, though Phoebus de Chateaupers himself was even having trouble believing his own words. "She could not have gone far, my friend."

He hadn't wanted to believe it when Jehan's little pet, the boy younger than Quasi, came to one of his lieutenants this morning, warning that the bell ringer's wife was in danger, but could in no way say how. Phoebus had a feeling that he could guess.

Quasi bit his bottom lip hard enough to bleed and felt his fingers dig even further into his palms. He felt the panic begin in his chest, the tension grew in his deformed face and his mind going over the last time he had seen Madellaine.

It was…first in the graveyard last night, and then this morning, she had woken up when he rose to ring for the Lauds. She had looked so peaceful, having gotten that familiar glint in her blue eyes last night following their conversation in the graveyard he'd come to recognize whenever she wanted to, as she liked to say it, 'go to bed with him.'

He hadn't wanted to disturb her rest, so he'd left her, and by the time he'd finished, she'd gone from the cathedral, with Sisters Rosemary and Maria saying they'd sent her on an errand to the marketplace. And now…it was well past dark, and his dark swirling vortex of thoughts was going on overdrive, where she could have gone to, who could have taken her, though only one person in particular came to mind, and then…it hit him.

"Jehan has her," he growled, balling his gloved fist into a hand, and lowering it to his side, afraid that he would lash out at something in anger. He inhaled and exhaled slowly through his nose, willing himself to calm down. Save your anger for Jehan, his conscience seemed to guide him in this moment, which he usually ignored, considering more times often than not, it spoke to him in Master Frollo's voice, that he was nothing but a demon.

"We'll get her back, Quasi," Esmeralda spoke up in a reassuring voice. "I promise. If Jehan has her, Phoebus will go," she commanded, glancing towards her husband for confirmation, who gave a curt nod. "We know that Frollo's after you both. We can't have you in harm's way, my friend. You're needed here in case Madellaine comes back."

"She won't," a new voice, another female's piped up, sounding rather distraught, causing the three friends to whirl around to see who the voice belonged to. "But I can get her back. I can take you there." Quasi blinked, exchanging a quick look with Phoebus.

"Wh—who are you?" he stammered, digging his nails into the skin of his palm. It hurt, but he ignored the pain. He could not even begin to imagine whatever suffering Jehan was inflicting upon his wife, possibly torturing her, and it caused that familiar hot spark of anger to ignite like a flame deep within the pit of his stomach. "How did…?"

His voice trailed off as the woman lowered the hood of her robe, allowing it to tumble gracefully over the back as she adjusted her hair over her shoulders, which cascaded in natural curls and ringlets to her breasts. "Forgive me," the mysterious beauty apologized, dipping her head in acknowledgement and submission. She pointed with the walking stick she used, clutched in her hand in a tight vice grip, towards the stairwell. "Sisters Rosemary and Maria said I would find you up in these strange towers. La Sachette of the Rat Hole told me where I might find you. I can help you find your wife, sir."

"How?" Quasi could hear his voice cracking as he asked. "The—that place is a fortress, there is no chance of us breaking through the walls unspotted. He would kill me."

The brunette beauty lifted her chin slightly to meet all three of their inquisitive looks and smiled. "Ah, but I know another way in. Through the crypts. We won't be spotted."

Captain Phoebus coughed once to clear his throat, taking a step forward and holding out his hand. "Ah, forgive the rudeness, milady, but…please permit me. My name's Phoebus. It means—"

"Sun God, yes, yes, the entire city of Paris knows who you are, Chateaupers," she interrupted airily, waving away the captain's introduction with her hand, much to his wife's amusement. "The citizens of Paris would have to be even bigger fools not to."

Phoebus furrowed his blond brows together in a frown. "You have still not answered my question, milady. What is your name?" he growled, not wanting to sound impolite.

The young woman in her early thirties blinked, almost as if she had forgotten why she had come for a moment, and then relaxed into a light smile. "Helena," she whispered, her soft voice quite kind, and flowing through Quasi's drafty tower loft like a gentle breeze. "I am…was…Florika's sister," she whispered, correcting herself, clutching onto the stick she used for waking even tighter. There seemed to be a heaviness on her shoulders, and though she smiled at the stupefied bell ringer's expression, hardly daring to believe her words. "I guess…in a way then, that makes you my nephew. I apologize for not having introduced myself sooner, but you were safe up in your towers, and I thought I could best keep an eye on you from the streets in Clopin's camp, for I see and hear much on those streets, sometimes more than I ought to, and it comes in handy," she sighed, tossing her dark curly hair back over her shoulder. She motioned for Quasi, Phoebus, and Esmeralda to follow her down the stairwell. "Come. If we are to reach your little wife in time, we must hurry," she urged, a glazed look in her dark chocolate brown eyes. "I know Jehan. He was…even when married to my sister, quite the…unique individual," she growled, clenching her teeth. "I do not know the fate he has planned for her, but it isn't good."

"I—I'm sorry," Quasi whispered, hating hearing the crack in his voice. He exhaled deeply, running a hand through his red hair in anguish. All of this information was too much to process all at once. "What was he like to my…to my mother?" he asked.

Helena glanced sideways at the slightly misshapen bell ringer, though she chose to focus on the shadow of his handsome face, and smiled sadly, though it didn't reach her eyes. She reached out a hand and tousled his wild tuft of thick red hair that always seemed to have a mind of his own, no matter what he did. "He was…" Her voice trailed off, and it seemed to take her ages to find her voice again. "Monsieur Frollo was kind to her, once. At least until you were born, a—and when I handed you off to Florika after you were born, she loved you at first sight, but…your father," she growled angrily, "did not."

Quasimodo had suspected at much, given the hostile way that his father had treated him over the last few days, blaming him for Claude's death, and now…it all made sense.

"He blames me f-for what h-happened to her," he snapped angrily. "Doesn't he?"

Helena nodded mutely and sighed, a curly ringlet falling in front of her face as she bowed her head as Phoebus flung open the doors to the cathedral's front entrance, and bolted down the steps, as if ashamed to have set foot on Holy Ground at all in the first place. "He—he does, I am afraid. Were that it not so, he could be kind to you, but…I am no longer confident in that brute to change his ways," she snapped, feeling the dip in her voice as her kind tone grew harder, and for a moment, she sounded like someone else. "Once upon a time, I had hope for my sister's husband that he would reform and find some measure of peace. He loved my sister very much, doted on her when they first met and went through the rituals of courtship for a year before they married. It broke his heart when she…when Claude killed her on the steps of Notre Dame, though it was rumored her death was an accident, Claude wrote to Jehan claiming that she fell. He was…not the same following my sister's death, and is much changed as a result of it. Who he was long ago is not the same man that he is today, and I fear that man is long dead and died with Florika. I am afraid Jehan is much too gone. The only thing that could be done with that man is to find a way to subdue him, and keep him locked up in a pit, far away from everyone else. It is the only way, unless you were to kill him," she said, and smiled at the lock of shock on his face. "I know. It is not a desirable outcome, but it might be the only way to be free of him. Sooner or later, nephew, you are going to have to make a choice. Especially if…"

You want your wife back alive, is what she was tempted to say, but thought better of it. "Captain Phoebus," she called out over her shoulder, stifling her smile as the captain of the cathedral guard had to jog in order to catch up with her long, leggy strides. "Might I have a word with you, captain, if you've a minute? Please?"

"Of course," he murmured, looking astonished. Quasi looked puzzled but paused in order to hang back and talk in low tones with Esmeralda. Helena sighed and turned to him.

Helena paused, sticking out her bottom lip in a slight pout, hesitating. "I must ask of you a great favor. I do not trust him to do it, given his…emotionally compromised state," Helena urged in a low whisper, careful to keep her voice low. "I would have you protect my nephew and his wife with every ability you have, even if it means laying down your sword and giving your own life if it came to that. I made a promise to my sister and I gave her my word before she attempted to flee the city that if something were to happen to her, that I would look after her son. I know he hates Jehan, and the feeling is mutual. But I cannot—will not—allow my nephew to become like him. If he kills Jehan, there would be no stopping the darkness within his heart. We cannot let that happen, Captain de Chateaupers. I can tell you agree with me on this, do you not?"

"I do," he answered immediately, surprised to hear himself confess it so fast.

"Good," she said softly, nodding her head in agreement. She glanced back over her shoulder where Esmeralda and Quasimodo lingered, walking slow. The Romani woman was clutching onto the poor boy's hand and whispering something to him, too low for either Phoebus or Helena to make out, no doubt offering what little comfort she could. "You do not know Jehan like I do. The man is nothing but a beast, a monster. I do not know what he wants with the little Barreau girl, but I know he was…looking none too pleased when he carried her away from the streets of the marketplace. It would not surprise me in the slightest if he were to attempt to rid my nephew's wife of…of…"

Her voice cracked and Helena blinked back briny tears, brushing them away with an angry flick of her finger. She coughed once to quell the lump in her throat. "I do not wish the same fate to befall my sister to either my nephew or his wife, for in many ways, he and she are all that I have left of my older sister, Phoebus," she explained. "I cannot let another Frollo steal that away from me, Captain, surely you can understand my position."

Phoebus remained silent as he processed the brunette's words, and then the gravity of them hit him at once, like he'd been struck on the back of his skull with a chunk of stone. "Oh, god," he moaned, momentarily forgetting to keep his voice down, which earned him a startled look from his wife and Notre Dame's bell ringer in return. A light pink blush speckled along his pale cheeks as he turned his attention back towards Helena. "You don't think he would actually try to rid Barreau of her baby, do you?" he demanded.

Phoebus felt like he got his answer, which even in Helena's silence, was deafening, as she gave a curt nod and he watched as a muscle in her jaw tensed and her posture became rigid. "I do," she whispered, leaning to the left slightly so she could whisper it to him. "Which is why we cannot afford to waste any time. The girl's life, and the baby's is in danger of being extinguished. He would seek to watch this bell ringer's life be destroyed, starting by taking away the two things he cherishes most, until he had nothing left and would beg Jehan for death. I don't know all the details of his plan, but my wandering through the streets has allowed me to hear enough," she spat bitterly, no warmth or affection in her tone. "And that is why we must hurry. You must follow me. I know where they are, but remember…if you see Jehan, and you will, you cannot hesitate, not even for a fraction of a second, a-and you must keep your hands at the level of your eyes, for the man is quite skilled with a rope. He has hung and strangled many and done much worse to the women in his life, I am ashamed to say. What I must ask of you next is no small feat, Captain, but I cannot have any blood spilled on your boy's hands back there. He is all that I have left of any reminders of my sister, and I would not see him turned a murderer."

Captain Phoebus nodded, recognizing the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. He had a feeling he knew what Florika's sister was about to ask of him, though it did not stop the dread from creeping up his spine like a spider leaving a trail of soft silk in her wake.

"What would you have me do?" he asked, careful to try to keep his voice steady, feeling his left hand instinctively hover over its hilt in his scabbard, his fingers twitching.

The captain watched as Helena lifted her chin and tossed her dark curls over her shoulder and fixed the captain of the cathedral guard with such an intense glower, even Phoebus wasn't quite sure what to make of it.

Helena's angry eyes were her pain untold, the unspoken grief of losing her sister at such a young age, the gathering of clouds for a rainfall none of them would ever witness. Maybe one day, she would let someone see that torrent, the release that Phoebus knew from personal experience that felt like a downfall.

But first, she would have to let someone she trusted in, and Helena looked like the type of young beautiful woman who had suffered much and should not have had to and looked far too haunted to open up to someone. When someone looked at him like that, eyes holding total anger as Helena's were, it hurt. Even if he deserved it, which he did not, the gesture still sent a tremor of fear down his spine at Helena's cold, listless look.

"Aim for Jehan Frollo's head, Captain Phoebus, because the man does not have a heart. Kill him."