"You're back a bit early, Inspector," Tanville leered from behind the little desk, nestled into the corner of the prison hall. "And how did your search for evidence go?" his voice rang with gloating triumph for Javert's failure darkened every angle, every inch of his face.
Javert shot him a look so enraged, Tanville unconsciously reached for the hilt of his sword at his side, just as a precaution. Javert's voice growled,"Before you go running back to Génot to keep him apprised of your successes, Tanville, I want you to first swear something to me on all that you hold holy."
Tanville stood, moved by the gravity in Javert's voice. "And what is that?" he asked, forcing his voice unsuccessfully to match the low pitch of the Inspector's.
"I want you to swear on the name of our Lord that you are upholding the law," he snarled, "that you are not stooping to fabricating evidence, and that you are acting justly in your actions against prisoner 3072."
"30...72?" he asked. And the snarl that twisted Javert's lips drove him to his conclusion. "Oh, against Cécelie." He held up his left hand and placed his right directly over his heart. "Yes, Inspector. This I swear on the name of our Lord."
"That is all I wished to know," Javert stated, drawing himself to attention, his face falling back into a stony, unmoving look. He clicked his heels in salute. "You are relieved of your post, Officer."
"Thank you, Inspector," he replied as he came around the table. He made a considerable effort not to look Javert in the eyes; his gaze was too intense for him at this moment. With a snap, he felt a rough hand grab his elbow.
Tanville turned to Javert, drawing himself ever so slightly away. "I believe I owe you an apology, Officer, and an undoubtedly early congratulations on your inevitable promotion," Javert whispered harshly.
"Th-thank you," Tanville stuttered in reply.
"Now be sure to send my apologies and regards on to the Commissioner, as well," Javert added, sitting himself down unceremoniously in the seat of the prison desk, pulling the ring of keys from hook of the wall into his hands as he took over the guard.
Tanville scurried off, leaving Javert alone with his thoughts, with his set of keys, and with the screams from the long hall of cells before him. Javert looked at his pocket watch; he would wait until the hour to begin the rounds of the prisoners. He forced away the conflicted feeling that rose inside of him at the thought of having to patrol Cécelie's… 3072's cell again.
His mind was now convinced, and the cracks of his heart that she had caused would follow his logic and grow even harder with time.
Precise as ever, Javert's eye kept on his watch until the thin second hand reached the exact summit of his watch, then he shut it with a mechanical click. Standing, he slid the keys into his pocket. His steps became mechanical in pace down the hall of bars and inmates. In one small part of his mind, he counted the steps left until he faced her. Twenty paces away, and he let his logical reasoning of her inarguable guilt sweep through every thought.
By the time he drew to a halt in front of her cell, his mind raced at breakneck speed, his anger seething in his eyes. He looked down on her crumpled form, her white shift already dingy with the dirt of her cell. She laid with her back toward him, her feet drawn up into her body so tightly, it would have made anyone but him be flooded with pity. She laid so still, for a second, he thought that she was asleep. But then, a wracking cough shook her whole body, rattling the chains that trapped her. Once the coughing subsided, she inhaled weakly. "Is that you, Inspector?" she asked, her voice barely audible through the rasping rattle her vocal chords produced.
Javert sniffed. "Why do you ask?" he growled. "Are you wondering if your charade is still in effect? If the tempting spell you've woven has broken now that I know the truth of your manipulation and guilt?"
She shriveled up even tighter at each accusation. But Javert did not care, her reaction was only confirmation of her guilt in his eyes. Turning her head slightly off the ground, she glanced over her shoulder. He could see how red-streaked her normally clear blue eyes had become, how her chest heaved with each ragged, shallow, audible breath she took. "I take it you did not find proof, Javert. You did not find my Sister Clémence, did you?" she wheezed.
He snarled, drawing himself up against the bars that contained her. "How could you ever expect me to find something or someone that does not exist, 3072."
"Back to my numbers, are we?" she croaked, a faint, weak smile pulling at her mouth.
"We never should have left that, 3072," Javert snapped, "and you must call me 'Inspector.'"
"Well then, Inspector," she managed to say before returning to another devastating coughing fit. "I take it you don't believe anything I've said or done for you. You can't find proof of everything I said to you, and you simply cannot take my word for it."
"Not when your words are nothing but temptations and lies," he returned.
She turned her head to face the wall once more, one last wheeze coming from her chest. "If that is what you choose to believe," she rasped before coughing again. "Besides, I doubt with this cough I'll even make it to trial, much less the guillotine."
Javert stood stock still in the hall, his mind conflicted. He had seen this before with prisoners; the chill of the stone and the trauma of their guilt caused lungs to collapse for some. From the smallest cracks of his heart, he wished it hadn't happened to her. He could not force himself to keep his patrol, fixated on her curled, writhing body as cough after cough tore through her. Finally, with one last shudder, she stopped breathing.
Javert had not even realized how his hand had reached for and gripped the cell bars during her suffering. He released his grip, surprised at his involuntary action. Forcing his hand to grab the ring of keys instead, he could at least do for her what he would do for any prisoner that passed, lay her out and bring her to the morgue. Unlocking the door, his feet grew heavy with each step he took, closing in on that only too familiar body at his feet.
Laying a hand on her head, she was already beginning to feel cool to the touch. Casting a glance behind him, Javert checked to see if he was alone, unobserved. Not a soul. What harm could one chaste kiss do, except to quench the ache that still plagued inside of him.
He closed his eyes, placing his lips against her cold temple, bringing one hand under her cheek to turn her face towards him. One last time.
With a sudden click, he felt movement, as an iron shackle closed around his wrist. Suddenly filled with life and somehow free from her chains, Cécelie threw her elbow, knocking Javert in the head, sending him reeling. But only as far as the chain around his wrist would allow him to fall.
Blurred in vision and blinded by pain and a great deal of humiliation, Javert fumbled for his keys, hearing them scatter across the stones of the cell. He shook his head to clear his sight, just in time to see her arrogant grin as she stood in the door to her own cell.
"Oh, Inspector," she cooed, her voice perfectly fine, "By now, you should know me better than to give up without a fight." She twirled the string of rosary beads in her hand. "Who knew that one could pick the locks of prison shackles with the pointed end of a rosary crucifix."
He yelled, a throaty growl as he pulled against the chain of his left hand, reaching desperately for the keys that lay just outside of his reach. "I'll not be far behind, Cécelie," he snarled.
"I count on it, Javert," she called as she slowly took a step into the hall, knowing she had only gained a matter of moments before he snipped at her heels.
And with that, she bolted down the hall, making for the closest exit.
Javert reached with all his brute strength, pulling the weakened chain out of the wall to finally grab the saving metal of his keys. He fumbled for the right key to the shackle on his wrist. Once it clicked open, he stood, pushing away the dull ache in his head to run after his prey. She would have made her escape quickly, but he could be quicker, sprinting towards the stables for his mare.
It was a matter of his own pride and integrity now, for letting a prisoner escape on his watch. He could not fail to bring her in.