A/N: Well, here we are. The first real chapter of the story. I'd just like to say that my updates may vary, and please don't give up on me. Reviews encourage me. I like to bounce around and write different parts of the story instead of straight through, so the time between updates may be a little weird. But bare with me, and please review! I love a critique, it helps me write. Even if you're bored of the story, just let me know why! Also, I'm trying to make this somehow a cross between the book and the musical, with the storyline. For example, Gavroche has a big role in the book and Eponine has a small one while in the musical it's opposite. I'll try to balance them out in this. Oh yes, Enjolras fans, he's going to be VERY appealing in this one. I hope you like gangsters...
It was just another cold winter night on the highway outside of New York. No one would even thinking about being outside in that kind of weather. Yet some had no choice. One of those unfortunate people was walking along the highway. He stuck out his thumb to a passing truck, but no one cared about him. They just passed him by without a thought.
Some people are scared of hitchhikers. Others were simply scared of the orange suit he wore, bearing the number 24601 on the very front in large black letters. It meant he was a prisoner. Yes, a prisoner at last proven innocent of his crime, yet he was still 24601. No longer did this man go by his rightful name.
His black hair was messed up and filled with pieces of ice from the snow. His stomach growled. All of his family was gone, afraid to be associated with him, even if he was innocent. No one but the jury truly believed that after those 19 years sitting in a jail cell that he was still innocent. Somehow in people's minds, being arrested, not guilty, makes you a criminal.
This man was standing outside a church, that had a meager sign saying "Homeless Shelter: All Welcome". A heart pounded inside of the man's chest. At last, sanctuary. He politely knocked on the door.
After a few moments, an elderly woman opened the door. "How my help you, my dear?" She asked. "You must be freezing, please come on." That was all John needed to hear. His eyes lit up and he dashed into the church.
"You let me in. Thank you! Oh, it's so warm in here..." He closed his eyes and smiled for the first time.
"Yes, well, you're the only one we've had tonight. So there's plenty of blankets and extra clothing for you to choose from, please come with me." The woman led the man to a side room. It had many beds, and a pile full of clothes in one corner. A priest was folding blankets.
"Father Jeffrey, we have a visitor." The woman smiled sweetly. "Here now, sir, put your coat down here..."
The man looked worried for a second, yet he took off his coat just the same, only to reveal the orange suit with the black numbers "24601". Yet, there was no reaction from either one of them.
"You are welcome here, my brother." The priest said. "As long as you need shelter, we are here for you."
"You don't care of what my suit says? 24601, I'm a criminal." The man grumbled, his voice half-angry, half-ashamed.
The priest seemed to either ignore him or not care. "There is plenty of food in the next room, my brother."
"I'll go heat up some of the turkey for you." The woman smiled, and she walked off.
The man was shocked. Never had he been treated so kindly before. "I... I can never thank you enough... if there's anything you need..."
"There is nothing. We are here to help you." The woman entered with a plate full of hot turkey and mashed potatoes, as well as a buttered roll. The man gobbled it up in a few mouthfuls. The priest and the woman bid him good night and left. It was than that the man noticed the solid gold cross. It was solid gold, he could tell.
The name of this man was John Valjean, and he knew gold when he saw it. He had "friends", more like con men who took advantage of his large home, that were in the black market. The sold anything they could their hands on, drugs, art, gold, just about anything with value. And they stored it below his home. When the police, (and the media), arrested his friends, one of them ratted on where the stuff was hidden. John found himself behind bars that night, in a year he found himself guilty, and in more than a decade he found himself with an ally. One of his friends, a true friend that felt bad for what had happened, brought evidence that he was unaware of what was going on. Even though the media "knew" he was guilty, the jury made their own choice.
19 years and John Valjean found himself free.
And yet face-to-face with solid gold once again. What did those 19 years among New York's worst do to him? He was now faced with the decision to be honest or dishonest, and he was considering the dishonest.
And there was his hand, picking up the cross.
And there went Jean Valjean, out the door and into the night. A thief.