There it was.
The moment Claude Frollo had been dreading for the last twenty years.
His darkest secret, the one he had intended to take to the grave, had finally caught up with him. And it had done so through the one person in this world he would have wanted to keep it from the most.
Of course. It was what he deserved, after all.
He felt as if he had been frozen. He wanted to open his mouth and speak, say something, anything to make Esmeralda listen, to make her try to understand. But his lips were sealed together as if he was made of stone. He was only able to stand there, rigid, watching her.
After her outburst, she was panting heavily, trying to regain her breath and self control. At last, she looked at him again, and in a deadly calmed tone she said:
- There are only two answers I need from you, Frollo. - the cold, impersonal way in which she called him by his last name felt like a knife through is heart. - First one. Is it true? Did you kill Quasimodo's mother? - he could hear a trace of desperate hope left in her tone, as she prayed internally that he would correct her, clear the whole thing, that it had all been a terrible misunderstanding.
But her prayer and her hope shattered into a million pieces when Frollo lowered his eyes and nodded slowly. She swallowed hard, as she felt her throat tightening dangerously. But she fought to keep her composure at least long enough to ask her second, definite question:
- Was it an accident?
Frollo wanted to scream in pain. He knew she wouldn't take any answer longer than a "yes" or "no". Not that he had any valid explanation anyway. There were no excuses, no explanations left. Only the truth. The horrid, bare truth.
- No. - he said, almost inaudibly.
She gasped involuntarily, as the whole meaning of that simple word hit her hard.
- Okay. Goodbye. - she said, fighting to keep the content of her stomach inside while she rushed to the door.
- Please, wait! - Frollo called at last, breaking free of his shock due to the even worse shock of losing her forever.
But the sound of his plea was only met with the loud noise of the door as Esmeralda slammed it.
The whole room was spinning around him. Or maybe he was the one swaying, shaking uncontrollably. Be as it may, he felt like the whole world was unraveling, and he feared that any second now, the floor would disappear from beneath his feet and he would sunk into a deep abyss of darkness.
He did the only thing he had left. He fell to his knees before the big cross over the fireplace, and raised his eyes in a desperate call for help. But as he did so, a dark, cruel realization came over him.
This had been the plan, from the beginning. The vileness of his actions had set in motion the most complex, intricate punishment of them all, specially designed to make him suffer the way he deserved to suffer. It had all led to this moment; meeting Esmeralda, falling in love with her, redeeming himself and gaining her love in return, believing that he was worth it… it was a master plan. For now that she had found out about his secret and left him for good, he had nothing left. He had surrendered everything he was to be with her, and now it all had been taken away from him, like he had taken everything away from that innocent gypsy girl and her baby twenty years ago.
It was fair. It was Justice.
So how could he ask for help of any kind, knowing that?
If he prided himself in something, it was his ability to discern beyond his emotions. What other people called ruthless, he called objective. He was just. He had never punished anyone who didn't deserved it, nor spare someone who did.
His own core principle had turned against him now. He knew he didn't deserve forgiveness.
This was the end of his story. And his sentence would be to remain in this world knowing that, utterly alone. Because he was sure that Esmeralda would have told Quasimodo by now, and he knew that would be the end of his relationship with his adoptive son.
Twenty years ago, Notre Dame had witnessed his crime and orchestrated the perfect consequence for him, the one that would make up for all the pain he had caused.
And today, all he had left to do was bow in admiration for the impeccable, breathtakingly flawless way in which she had succeeded.
Esmeralda raced down the stairs and through the entrance door into the open air, where not even the cold refreshing rain could stop her from throwing up violently. The anguish was hitting her in waves, each stronger than the one before.
She didn't know where to go or what to do but she knew she couldn't stay still, or anywhere near Frollo for that matter.
She briefly considered going to the cathedral, but her stomach twisted again with the thought of facing Quasimodo. She knew she wouldn't be able to look him in the eye ever again after knowing the truth about his origins. The lad was so kind and honest, it made her sick to think about Frollo blatantly lying to his face for his entire life. She wouldn't last a minute.
So, with a sharp pain in her heart, she understood that visiting Quasimodo was no longer an option. She had just lost the truest friend she had ever met. And in turn, Quasimodo would lost probably the only person that had truly cared for him at all. All because of Frollo. The burning rage she felt made her dizzy again.
"Okay, just move, where do I go?" she thought to herself. She thought of the catacombs, but for some reason, the fact that Clopin had been right all this time made it unbearable to face him again. She scolded herself for her pride, but looking deep down within herself, she knew pride wasn't the only reason. There was also guilt. Guilt and shame for everything she had put him through, for turning her back against him and hurting him so.
But even those weren't the only reasons.
There was something more, something that she realized horrified; she wasn't ready to admit that Frollo was a monster, because there was still a hidden part of herself that believed he wasn't.