Come and Go: Chapter Three: To Love is to Let Go
I hope you all enjoyed that last chapter, Authors Note free! Now it's time for the bestest part of all! Answering reviews!
Nebulia: Oh good, I'm glad I'm still in the spirit of the book. That's really hard to do. I figured I'd give her AIDs because it's sorta rampant, and if you're a prostitute you're pretty much cursed to get it. And I figured it made more sense for her to actually die of a deadly disease, since colds and flu are reasonably treatable now. As for why I chose Oregon: That's the state I live in, so I figured since Hugo knew France up and down, I better know a place up and down. He lived in France, I live in Oregon. I figure it pretty much works out. And they're about the same size. Not exact, but about.
Kang Xiu: Well, I hope you do become fond of it! Thanks for the grammar check! Come back soon!
LesMisLoony: Yeahness! munches cookie snugs Hooray Lutherans! O.O Sorry about that. Starting next week, my church will have two services: Traditional and Contemporary. I'm not a big Contemporary fan though, myself, but I might try it out once. I'm glad you like your new church. Power to the Lutherans! Our Jim was really nice..... But still, yeah Lutherans!
Elyse3: Thank you! Oh good, I'm glad I've interpreted him well. has inferiority complex about these things Gr! I seem to be having issues with my "theres"! I'll try and make sure not to miss that again.......
And now, onto the chapter!
Five years previous, in the city of Salem, a young man was in the backyard with his wife and two daughters, trying to remain calm. The man you are all familiar with: Officer James Rowe. It was one of those peaceful summer evenings that Oregon is so blessed in having, when the sun is warm and setting late, and this wonderful feeling of serenity drifts down onto you, and you could just be like this forever.
Unfortunately, poor Rowe was not getting any of that Summer Night Serenity. It was over the deadline for his current charge, a one Jean Valjean to call in for parole. James Rowe was a fair, compassionate man, and decided to wait a week for Valjean to call. So, nervously, Rowe had waited, and waited, but the call had never come.
"Don't make me do this, Jean, don't make me do this!" he whispered fiercely to himself. For he knew that if he told Inspector Javert that Valjean had broken his parole and gone missing, Valjean would be hunted down like a dog, and Rowe would have to put up with the "I told you so!" looks of the inspector.
"Call, Jean, call!" he now silently begged. But it had been of no use.
Why is this important to the series of events that have just occurred five years ahead in Astoria? Surely the reader can guess! No? Well then, let me divine it out for you;
Why Chief Javert was headed for the county seat was for the same reasons as before. He knew – knew – beyond a doubt that Mr. Madeline, honored and revered mayor of Astoria, was that same man: Jean Valjean. And so, Javert drove into the night, downing cups of coffee to keep himself awake, and was determined to get to the county sheriff's office and make him see reason; Mr. Madeline – or Jean Valjean – was a criminal on the loose, possibly very dangerous, and must be apprehended at all costs.
And this was Mr. Javert's sacred mission: to make sure that Valjean remained locked in a jail cell for the rest of his days!
...
Fantine was not aware of any of this. Nor was she aware that the man that had saved she and her daughter's life was an ex-convict. No one knew, except Javert. It mattered not, for Fantine was in a state of delusion, having terrible pneumonia. Her fever raged, she coughed incessantly. She shook and sweated, and her hands were cold and clammy. The poor girl was in a terrible state.
But one thought kept her clinging to life: Her daughter.
For Mr. Mayor had promised to bring her the child and that Fantine would get well, and that he would re-hire her at his factory. All would be well, he'd promised.
But days had passed, and Madeline still had not been able to go and get the child. But he continued to visit the poor, wretched girl in the hospital, and with each visit, he promised soon, very soon.
But it was on this night when Madeline visited that a doctor drew him aside.
"She's terribly ill sir. She's barely got a prayer."
Madeline had paled. "Surely you can do something?"
"Has she seen her daughter yet?"
"No."
"Bring her the child, or she might never get the chance."
Madeline, distraught, did not know what to do, for he dare not go back into the hospital room and see the dying woman, for he feared his courage would fail him. However, his salvation from seeing Fantine came from a most unexpected source.
"Sir?"
Valjean turned in the hall way and looked behind him. There stood Chief Javert, his long, grey coat dripping, for it was raining cat's and dogs.
"Sir, I have a most seriously grave matter to discuss with you."
Madeline speculated that that was the last thing he needed at the moment, but said "Yes, Javert, what is it?"
Javert's cold, pale eyes looked extremely down trodden, and the man seemed to radiate this terrible unhappiness. "Sir, an officer has grossly insulted a man of higher rank, and has not shown him the respect he deserves. This is a serious matter."
Things like these were always coming up. Since taking command, Javert had tightened and constricted the force until it was the picture of what a good police department ought to be. At first there'd been a lot of complaints and shows of temper tantrums through out, but this had been squashed almost immediately. No one disobeyed Chief Javert.
"And who has complained of the offense?" asked Madeline, very confused. Why was he needed in mere corporal punishment?
Javert looked slightly startled. "Why, you, sir."
Madeline blinked. "Me?"
"Yes."
Madeline blinked again, and then asked "And who is the officer that has offended?"
Now Javert could not meet his eyes, and he was staring intently at the puce carpet that rested below his feet. "I, sir," he said, just barely above a whisper.
Madeline was just about knocked off his feet, and asked a very surprised "What?"
"You see, sir, I've been entertaining these suspicions for quite a while, and at last acted on them."
"And what did you suspect?"
"That you were an ex-convict who broke his parole named Jean Valjean."
Madeline became quickly enraged, but held himself in check.
Javert's cheeks flushed slightly in color, and he nudged the carpet with the toe of his boot. "So, I went to the county police with my suspicions."
"And what did they say?"
"They sad I was mad."
Madeline laughed slightly. "Well!"
Javert looked up now. "They were right, sir."
Madeline placed a hand under his chin and continued to listen, for the police chief was not yet done. "You see, the real Jean Valjean was caught six months ago, and goes on trail tomorrow. Which brings me to my point."
"And that is?"
Javert gulped slightly, and gave a very dejected sigh. "Sir, I most humbly request that you dismiss me at once."
Madeline blinked, gapped. "You mean you want me to fire you? Javert, if you want out so badly, you can just resign."
"No, you see, to do that would be honorable. I have wronged, and deserve punishment. And so, sir, I ask again that you dismiss me from the rank of Chief of Police of Astoria at once."
Madeline continued to stare, and Javert could no longer keep the laborious eye contact, and went back to staring at the carpet. After what seemed like hours of tortured thought, Madeline responded. "No, Chief, I do not think I will dismiss you."
Javert's head shot up, and he opened his mouth to protest, but Madeline held up his hand to silence him. "I certainly don't like being accused of being a convict, but you did the right thing in double checking. You are very valuable, and I do not wish to lose you. No, sir, you will stay."
It was almost a worse blow to Javert's pride to be forgiven, for he was not a merciful man. He simply stood there, and said nothing. He did not trust himself to move.
"You may go now, sir," Madeline said gently.
Javert stood straight, gave a small bow, and turned on his heels, his coat swishing behind him.
...
It was a known fact that Mr. Madeline's already grey hair went stark white that night, as he passed back and forth through his study, going mad with confusion and utter terror.
Doubtless, the reader, not unlike Javert, has suspicions of Mr. Madeline as an ex-convict as well. To be perfectly frank, the poor, wretched men were one and the same. Mr. Madeline, the beloved mayor of Astoria, was none other than Jean Valjean.
And so, close to tears, so torn was he, Valjean walked ceaselessly along the rug. What to do? What to do? Where to go, what to say?
He did, however, decide where to go: The church.
The Catholic church was still open, though there were only a few priests there, and so, at the rail of the alter, Valjean did what he did best: knelt and prayed.
"You must not go to the court tomorrow, Valjean," half of him said. "If you go, you will betray your guilt, and then the factory will surly be shut down, and the town go back into shambles. Astoria needs it's benevolent mayor! You would trade your happy life for a man you don't even know? You would trade the happy lives of people you do for him?"
Silently, the old man continued to cry at the alter, praying, begging, for some holy sign.
"Please God, guide my hand. I am lost on a dark path, and I do not know which way to turn! Please, God above, I beg of you!" he internally cried, his plea reaching forth to saints and angels as he lit candle after candle.
"You must go, Valjean," the other half of him said. "For if you do not, then you will have allowed an innocent man to suffer the fate you should have had. You will be damned to hell for your selfishness and pride. Take self sacrifice, Valjean, for this man has not earned this fate!"
But Valjean knew that if he stayed, he would be living a lie. Who did he think he was kidding? He was pulling the wool over the eyes of all of Astoria!
Well, not all of it.
For Javert had figured things out, and now, the only man with any reason had been cast down. Valjean could easily continue to live the life of Mr. Madeline, successful business man, and kind mayor of Astoria, who had the respect of everyone in the county!
But it would not have been easy to live this half life, for it was not his. It wasn't anybody's, for Madeline had never existed. He could not be someone he wasn't.
Madeline was Jean Valjean, and he would have to remain as such!
And, with his terrible purpose in heart, still crying slightly, Valjean left the church, and went to his car, intent on reaching the county court and jail.
...
"I'm sorry, sir," the guard told Valjean once he'd arrived at the court house. "But the trial's already started. I suppose I might be able to let you in, since you're the mayor, and all, but there are no seats left, and wouldn't want to force you to stand."
Valjean gave the young guard a kind smile. "Do not worry about my standing. I don't mind it, but I must get into that court room, sir. You must let me in. It is a matter of absolutely grave importance."
The guard blinked, surprised. "Well, yes, sir, if it's that terribly important, of course I'll let you in. But sir, what is it?"
Valjean smiled sadly again. "You will know very shortly."
And so, the young officer unlocked the door and let the poor man in.
Valjean blinked slightly, for it was brighter inside the court room than it was in the hall. It was very crowded indeed, though he didn't know why that surprised him. Quietly, he stepped inside, dodging reporters, who took no notice of him. He could see a confused jury, staring at the subject with intense interest.
The subject was a poor man named Champmathieu. He was, not unlike Valjean had once been, a mechanic. He was in his fifties, and still working, sickly and old. He was paid as little as possible, always, and he would probably be working until he died.
Unless, as Javert wanted, he died in prison.
"Once more," the D.A. said, obviously agitated with the rather stupid man, "with all the evidence placed before you, how can you still deny that you are Jean Valjean? Look!" here he pointed at a man not quite into his middle ages yet. "Officer Rowe has identified you. Several witnesses have identified you! Even Chief Javert has identified you. Do you deny it, sir?"
The poor man was begging for his life, as little as it was worth to the court. "I'm not, sir, I'm honestly not! I know I got some of the questions wrong, maybe lied on some things. Well, I was not lying, I tell you! I am an old man, and have forgotten many things. You said take your best guess, so I guessed. No, sir, I am not the man you want!" Little Champmathieu was close to tears. "On God, I swear, I'm not!"
Finally, Valjean, the real Valjean, could stand it no more. "He is right!"
Hundreds of pairs of eyes whirled to face the man who had spoken, and the reporters had drawn away from him so as the cameras could get him into focus. Gulping, Valjean noted the judge's gaze, the jury's, the District Attorney's, the Defense Attorney's, his parole officer, James Rowe, and most keen of all, Javert.
For a moment, Valjean stared right back at the hawked eyed man that had denounced him days before.
"I am the real Jean Valjean."
The D. A. stared in disbelief, as did Officer Rowe, so, smiling a sad, terrible smile, Valjean stepped up. "You do not believe me, sirs?"
"Mr. Madeline, I think you've lost your senses, but I will not have you interrupting my court room!" sounded the judge. "Do you not see clearly, sir?"
"No, I am the only one who sees clearly here." He now turned to Rowe, and had the absolutely stunned man look him in the eyes. "Rowe, you do not remember me? You were there the day they released me. When I begged to call in for my parole check in, you agreed, do you remember? You agreed because I was going to walk all the way to Milwaukie to find my sister. You remember, yes?"
Rowe stared at him much like a fish, leaning in to get a better look. "Yes..... I remember."
"Sadly, I never found my sister.... Who else will be proof enough that I am Jean Valjean?" He turned and faced Javert, who was glaring at him coldly. "Ah, my police chief. Javert, you will tell them, please? You will tell them I am Jean Valjean?"
Javert set his jaw and did not move, feeling as though some terrible joke were being played on him. Valjean turned to the judge again.
"I have a feeling my wonderful police chief is under appreciated. You must promote him, some time, sir, if it is in your power. For he was the only one, the only one at all! He alone could see who I really was." He turned again, and shuddered under that terrible stare. "Yes, the clever man knew."
Begging in his eyes, Valjean looked up at the judge. "I suppose you ought to arrest me immediately, sir, but I must beg you not to do that just yet. You see, I have unfinished business in Astoria. I promised a woman I would bring her her child, and I have been untrue to that promise. However, I understand that I mustn't go running about until an arrangement has been made."
Javert had stood up, and was about ready to order several officers to arrest that man, but the judge gave Javert a piercing stare, so he sat right down again. Valjean watched his adversary for a moment. "I will be in Astoria. Mr. Javert knows where to find me. Thank God I did as I did today."
And with that, the man turned and left, walking out of the court room, and past the utterly confused guard.
...
Fantine blinked, slightly tired, as a sad, and smiling Mr. Madeline came to her hospital room once more to visit her.
"I was told by the doctors you took a long trip. To fetch my daughter? Is that why you left, sir?" An angelic glow lit the martyr woman's face, her heart beat racing at the thought of her beloved little child.
Valjean avoided her eyes. What to say? How on earth could he bring her the child now? "I was-"
He stopped, for Fantine was not listening, but staring with great joy towards the hall, where the sound of children echoed playfully. "My daughter! You did bring her! Oh, she is so grown up now! She will not remember her mother."
"No, of course she remembers you. She talks of nothing else."
Fantine absolutely beamed with pleasure. "I will see her soon? Those doctors are terrible! They say I will over excite myself and hurt my heart."
Very seriously, Madeline agreed. "Yes, that is why you cannot see her right now. Get some sleep, take some rest. Maybe you will be well enough to see her in the morning."
"Oh, but sir, I am well enough!"
Valjean clutched the woman's clammy hand, her skin pale from sickness. She was so young...... "No, I think you should...."
He stopped again, for the woman was looking at the door way again, but not in joy, but in complete terror. Her face drained of what little color was left, and her eyes were easily the size of bowling balls.
"Good God, Fantine, what is the matter?" Madeline cried, quite shocked.
Valjean turned in his seat, to see the overbearing, terrible face of Javert, staring straight at him.
The powerful man had a terrible grin on his face, so radiant with subvert power that it was almost evil, the way he smiled. His pale eyes glowed sharply, his dark hair was wet, for it was still raining. In fact, all of his clothes were wet, for he had not even grabbed a jacket.
A nurse in the hall was angrily ordering that he leave the hall at once, for he had no visitation rights. Three police men, on call, and ready to order back up if necessary, asked her to please calm down, but it was Javert finally snapping "Shut up, woman!" before she indignantly skittered off to find a doctor to tell the man off.
With a terrible air of utter and complete confidence, Javert haughtily strode into the room, laughing a terrible laugh.
"What does the world come to, when whores are pampered like duchesses, and convicts are magistrates? It shall be fixed! It is time."
Fantine clung to Madeline's hand, her sickened mind sure he had come for her. "Oh God, save me, Mr. Madeline!"
Valjean patted her hand, and reassured her, though he felt little reassurance himself. "Remain calm. He has not come for you." He then rose from his chair and tried to look the chief of police in the eye. "I know why you have come," he said simply.
"Move along, then."
Valjean did not move, though it wasn't in disobedience. "A moment, please, Javert-" he began.
"Chief of Police, 24601. You will call me Chief Javert, for I am the superior now!"
Valjean was clearly embarrassed, but remained humble, and said, very softly. "Chief Javert, I beg of you, give-"
"What's that? Talk aloud! People talk aloud to me!"
Valjean clenched his fist, but kept his arms tightly to his side. Lifting his eyes from the other man's shoes, Valjean gave a burning glare at the man. "Give me three days to fetch the woman's child!"
That was enough to shock Fantine half to death.
"My daughter, she isn't here? Cosette, Cosette! Where is my Cosette?"
"Be silent, woman!" Javert ordered tersely to the girl. "As for you, Valjean, you must think me a fool! I would let you go for three days, and in that time you would have slipped through my fingers. It is so, yes? No, you are to come with me at once!"
"No, I swear to God I wouldn't!" protested Valjean, begging. "You may come with me, if you want! Please, Javert, by God, I beg of you!"
"Absolutely not!"
Fantine lurched from the bed to grab Valjean's hand, placing it to her icy cheek. "Sir, tell me my daughter is here! Tell me where to find her!"
Valjean had tears in his as he stared back at the woman.
"Please, Mr. Madeline, I beg of you, bring me my daughter!"
"Be quiet, you miserable little tart! I said shut up!" Javert shouted. "Your worthless child is not here, and the man you so adore, your Mr. Madeline is not here either!"
"What? Mr. Mayor, don't let him say these things!"
"Did you not hear me? There is not Mr. Mayor now! There is only a scoundrel, a liar, a thief!"
He seized Valjean by his collar, his large hand fastening around his throat. Not chocking, just holding.
Fantine gave a quick intake of breath, a look of intense pain crossed her face, and she clutched at her chest. Without a sound, she fell back on the bed, and lay still.
She was dead.
White hot rage poured through Valjean's veins, and he ripped the police chief from his throat, tossing him down to the floor. In less time then it takes to blink, he'd slammed and locked the heavy door, leaving the officers stranded outside, who'd only just been getting ready to fire at the man. They knew it would be useless to fire, for even if the bullets did penetrate the thick door, they risked shooting Javert, whom they could not see.
The two men were now throwing punches at each other, and in a split second, Valjean had ripped Javert's gun from it's holster, and had it aimed at the disarmed man's heart.
"I suggest you leave me be for a moment," he seethed, and the glowering Javert did not move.
Very steadily, Valjean kneeled at the edge of Fantine's bed, taking her icy hand in his. He very carefully kissed it, and said, his eyes up turned to Heaven, tears in his eyes, "By God, I swear Fantine. I will take care of your daughter!" He then watched the lifeless face, whose expression was very soft, and calm, almost happy, as though she'd found some sort of pleasure in merely being able to see her beloved from on high again.
After these last words, Javert tackled his adversary and wrested the gun from him. He unlocked the door, ordered his men to arrest Valjean at once, and read him his rights.
For all the scuffle, Valjean went very quietly and without consequence. Javert, who was forming a rather nasty bruise on his cheek, walked behind, this terrible glow of triumph radiating from his face.
And yet, Valjean did not seem so down trodden, though he raised his eyes to every cross he passed in the hall.
"God will not let me down," he thought. "And I won't let you down, Cosette."
To Be Continued.....