Right turn, hurry, Cécelie's thoughts flew as fast as she did down the nearly empty rues of Paris. It would have been considered a beautiful night, with the sun just dipping below the horizon and the faintest stars just poking through the twilight. But not for her. All that mattered to her was her speed and her destination. She had to make it to her new goal. Her sanctuary. Or at least she hoped.
Breathing heavier as her legs began to ache more and more, she ignored the increasing sound of hoofbeat in the distance. He would never forgive her, never ask for her absolution now. Her heart hurt not just from her sprinting. Although she had almost predicted exactly how events had unfolded, there was no way to prepare for yet another betrayal of her heart.
If only I could make him listen, even her thoughts panted. "No," she said to herself between gasps of cool air that burned her lungs. "I tried that."
She was so close; just across the Pont au Change and a few more streets away after that. If only she could lose her pursuer. Crossing the threshold of the bridge, she heard a deep-throated yell behind her.
"Stop, Cécelie!" he bellowed, pushing his horse even faster, now that he had her in his sights. He ran her down, cutting off her path and drawing his horse to a quick stop as she made it to the middle of the bridge. With a quick dismount, Javert halted in his place. For a moment, so did she. Her eyes glowed brighter in the sunset, and her face remained impassive, unmoving. Unafraid. Slowly, she began to back away from him, and for a second he thought she would run the way she had come. But instead, she slowly inched towards the thick rail of the balustrade.
Javert grew suddenly more aware of the rushing water that flowed beneath them. As his progress halted, so did hers, her gaze as inscrutable as ever.
For a moment, they looked towards each other. Javert saw neither fear nor rage in her eyes, in fact, they returned his gaze with a softness and sadness that shook him to his core.
"Where are you going, Cécelie?" he asked, making every effort to soften his voice. "You know you don't have anywhere else to go but to come back with me."
She sniffed, her breath slowly beginning to even out after her exertions. "Back with you?" she laughed. "Back to prison to wait for an unjust execution? Back with the man I trusted and gave everything to?" She shook her head violently. "No, I've done that once for ten years. I won't do that again."
"Everyone will have to answer for their sins someday, Cécelie," he spoke, the familiar edge returning to his voice. Ever so slowly, he inched his way closer to her. If he could grab her, restrain her, then all could return to where it should be. "If you are guilty, if that is the proof of your actions, then you must pay the price for it."
She drew back from him a little more, closing the distance between her and the stone rail.
He continued his words to distract her from his movements, "If you are innocent…"
"Why can you not believe me, Javert?" she screamed, her impassive exterior breaking at last.
His fierce eyes cast to the ground. "I cannot," he spoke so steadily, "not without proof of justice being done."
Cécelie sighed, her eyes almost welling with tears. "And that is why I do not feel anger for you. Why I do not feel the urge to hate you," her words came just barely above a whisper. Javert took a step closer just to hear her. "Because I pity you," she murmured.
At that, Javert froze in his place, his brows furrowing deeply, his mouth taught with clenching teeth.
"And do you know what pity is, Inspector Javert?" she continued, taking a step to close the distance between them. Placing her hand on his face, running her fingers through the whiskers of his cheek, she drew closer to his unmoving form.
"Love," she whispered. Without another breath, she reached for his head, bringing his mouth down on hers one more time, plying her lips against his over and over again until his returned the fervor.
Then, with all her might, she shoved him backwards, causing him to almost fall to the pavement. In his stumbling, she reached for the balustrade, heaving herself to stand on the thick stone rail. For a moment, she faced him, their eyes locking.
Javert stared up to her in disbelief. "Cécelie," he called, "do not do this." He reached his hand out for her.
"I might pity you, Javert, but I refuse to put my life in the hands of a man who doubts my word and my innocence until he is proven otherwise." She glanced over her shoulder to the waters of the Seine. "And so, I will place my life in the hands of One, who knows my innocence."
She pulled her rosary from her neck to hold in her hand. The straw-colored lengths of her unruly hair whipped around her in the evening breeze. But the look in her eyes showed nothing but determination.
"No," Javert pleaded one more time, his voice so feeble, almost like he swallowed a sob.
"Adieu, Phillipe," she murmured. "I want you to remember me, if you can, as I was to you last night, as one thing you might value above others. But if not, if you even felt anything resembling love for me, you will not follow me."
He lunged forward, the bottom edge of her white shift slipping through his outstretched fingers. But she jumped too quickly for him to stop her.
He heard a splash, but then, peering into the merciless water below him, he saw no sign of her blonde hair or flailing limbs.
He did not know how long he stood there, searching the river with his eyes. He heard nothing but the mesmerizing flow of water below and the constant pounding of his heart within his chest.
Not even realizing that he had been holding his breath, Javert let go of the stone rail, turning on his heel to grab his mare. He forbade his thoughts to wander, controlling every detail they conjured to only focus on the next thing he must do. He swallowed the tremor of his throat and ignored the sting that prickled around the edge of his eyes. All that was left was to file a report.