Author's note:
It's been a while, has it not. Reviews are always appreciated. My sincerest hopes that you are enjoying my new scenes.
This cannot be real, Javert reassured himself weakly, pushing past the little officer to step into the detention room. "What the hell happened here, Tanville," he demanded forcefully. He could feel his own blood drain from his face, staring at the bloody, lifeless corpse on the bed. The slit throat smiling at him, and a little dagger with an ivory handle sticking up from the man's privates. "Tanville!" he shouted again. "You were to watch him until he could be safely escorted to the jail!"
"I stepped out for a minute at most, Inspector," Tanville shook his head incredulously. "I heard a ruckus down the stairs. You saw when I returned, then."
Javert reached for the weapon, the thin dagger he recognized. He could feel Tanville's unwanted presence looking over his shoulder.
"Is that not the same little dagger you had the pleasure of hiding in Rénauld's bodice?" he whispered.
Javert's mind raced at the puzzle before him. "Yes, but she did not cause injury during her mission with Tournot," he stated matter-of-factly. "She did not leave the room with it on her person. Anyone could have walked in, found it in the floorboards and used it against him."
"And besides, she has been with you constantly since then, hasn't she?" Tanville pointed out, drawing back towards the door. "It could not have been her. I'll go inform the other officers to take note of other occupants as suspect. Unless…."
Javert straightened, setting the dagger back down across the dead man's stomach. He kept his face away from Tanville, as stony as he knew it looked. He could not meet his gaze, afraid to commit yet another sin and omit the truth. As the door shut, he knew his next goal. To find Cécelie and uncover her innocence, or her guilt. For her sake, he hoped she had a good excuse.
Cécelie stood just outside the door to Rosette's, allowing her warm, gentle tears to trickle down her cheek. The night air sending the slightest shiver over her skin, but her sadness, her inner ice was even colder. As much as she hated her bitter inner voice of experience, it was right. She would never find happiness. Or peace. Or love. But maybe she could pick up the pieces of the same shattered around her...
"I see you again my child," a familiar sweet voice spoke just beside her. "You seem unhappy," the sister said, a smile of pure sympathy and a light of compassion in her eyes beneath that broad, pure-white wimple. "I remember you," she whispered, smiling even more.
Cécelie dried her eyes with the rough sleeve of her uniform. "Recognize me? If you haven't yet noticed, Sister, I am no longer dressed to work the streets." She gestured to her uniform, bitterness seeping in her voice.
Sister Clémence shook her head, reaching her hand out again, this time to hold one of Cécelie's. "Little one, I did not speak to you because of what I thought you were," she comforted, pressing a string of beads into Cécelie's palm. "I spoke to you because I am here to comfort those who are suffering, who are victims of this world, those who need love."
Cécelie ripped her hand away. "You don't know me, Sister," she chided. Her gaze falling down to the cobblestones at her feet.
The sister laughed gently, "Perhaps I do not, at least not personally. I may not know your name, but I am close with One who knows everything about you." Her smiling eyes turned up to the heaven. "Rue de Bac," the sister reminded her. "Just ask for me, should the need arise."
At the heavy sound of running footsteps, both women looked up toward the door, the imposing figure of Inspector Javert filling the frame as he hurried to catch Cécelie in his grip. "There you are," he scowled at her. Cécelie's momentary reprieve from anger gone as she struggled against him. She glanced around for the white wimple, finding it nowhere to be seen. "Planning to run away from me at last?" Javert snarled. His fingers pried open her closed palm, half-sure he would find blood stains or evidence against her at last.
Instead, all he found was a simple white rosary.
"Cécelie," he paused, unsure of the events that had unfolded, "where did you... " he looked into her inscrutable eyes. "Did you come out here to pray?"
She wriggled herself against his grasp again, but he only pressed her closer to his body. "Actually, Javert, I came out here for a good solid cry, thank you," she snipped at him. "I can only have my life threatened and my self-worth demolished so many times in one day."
"Where did you get the rosary then?" he demanded.
"From a sympathetic nun, Inspector," she responded, arresting her hand from his grasp just long enough to stuff the prayer beads into the top of her bodice. Right now, she didn't want him studying, scrutinizing it. She just wanted to keep it to herself, for once.
His fingers gripped her chin, turning her eyes to stare nowhere but into his skeptical gaze. "Then you have no idea what has happened?" his voice scratched as he held her face tighter.
"Aside from my anger, my crying and my near conversion, monsieur, then no," she retorted with a snort. "But I am sure you are dying to tell me what has happened."
"All in good time," he hissed, "first, I'd like you to tell me where your hidden blade went from this morning."
She raised her brow in caustic flirtation, "Oh, the one you enjoyed slipping between my breasts just hours ago? After Tournot's arrest, I don't know. I must have set it on the bed or dropped it to the floor to chain that bastard up. You were there," she sniffed, "you would know as well as I would."
"I thought I did, until we found the blade again," his eyes scanning over her face for every detailed reaction. "It had sliced Tournot's throat wide open and ended sticking into his… well, where you had been threatening to stick it earlier in your encounter, Cécelie."
Her eyes widened in disbelief. "He's dead," she paused. Javert nodded once. "And," she continued slowly, piecing her situation together, "you think I killed him."
"I know someone had to," he continued, "and I know you left in a rage. I know your dagger was last in the room with Tournot. And I know you were the last person to hold the weapon." His words fell so matter-of-factly on her, stacking up on each other to build his case.
Cécelie twisted her face from his grip, staring at him in confidence and self-righteousness. "It seems you have already decided the truth of the matter," she held her wrists dramatically before her. "I'm surprised you haven't already clapped me in irons yet," she scoffed. "I know how much pleasure you find in doing just that, Inspector. But know that I am innocent, that my words are the proof of my innocence, once again."
He did not flinch. He remained standing stock still.
"Javert, you gave me a chance to begin anew," she continued. "You released me from my first prison and gave me a chance to do something good with my life, as miserable and pitiable as it has been until these past few days." She relaxed at his motionless stance a bit, drawing closer to him. "For that, I am grateful. That your sense of duty and justice has brought me a chance to bring my past to a close. And now, I want to focus on my future. A future you have helped to bring about. For that I owe you my loyalty. And because of that, I would never commit a crime that would rip away your glory of capture."
Javert sniffed at her analysis, as accurate as he wanted it to be. He was beginning to hope it was true. For his sake as well as hers.
"Why would I allow for all that has happened to me, all that has happened between to occur if I were to just undermine your wishes and kill Tournot for myself?" she demanded.
"For revenge," he answered simply.
She shook her head. "You are looking for proof of my profession of loyalty then?" she hissed, narrowing her blue eyes.
He nodded. But, before he could open his mouth to respond, she stepped forward, bringing his mouth down to hers for a passionate kiss. His lips resisted for but a moment before working against her as heatedly as she moved her own. With another breath, his tongue slid between her teeth, sharing the now-familiar taste of his mouth.
"How about this then," she panted between movements of her lips. "I don't know if I could ever marry again," she rasped, "but with you, just maybe, I could begin to love again, Javert."
Her kiss gave him clarity of mind. The physical brush of her lips, the heat of her breath sent his thoughts racing past emotion in search of a deeper logic. If she hadn't been alone out here in the street then she would be cleared of all suspicion. Therein lied the key to her proof of innocence. Gently, he pulled away from her. But not too far. "What is the name of the sister who gave you the rosary?" he asked, a gentleness to his voice.
"Clémence," she answered, "Sisters of Charity on the Rue de Bac"
He nodded. "Just for good measure, I'll send officers to get her testimony tomorrow, as a precaution should others begin to wonder where you were." The green of his eyes had darkened ever so slightly from their kiss, and the ghost of a smile teased his mouth. "I doubt you could convince everyone of your innocence the same way you did for me, Comptesse."