Sorry for the long wait on this chapter. Also... think I might have been lying about the length before--this story is going to be a bit longer than I thought. And there is likely to be a series, or at least a sequel. Something.
Anyway, enjoy!
The scent of incense surrounded Javert as he entered the sanctuary, making him feel warm even before the door was closed completely. The smell was rich, sweet and powerful: myrrh, frankincense, cedar, and a few other things that he could not place, all backed by the bitter tang of charcoal. The smoke seemed to cling to him like treacle.
He'd expected the church to be empty except for the priest, but there were people scattered throughout, kneeling or sitting, some with rosaries dangling from their clenched fingers. He walked as silently as he could down the center aisle and slipped into an empty pew near the back, leaning the cane against the seat next to him. No one seemed to notice that he had come in. After a few moments, he heard the creaking of a door behind him and saw a woman emerge from the confessional box at the rear of the sanctuary. After she was gone, a man rose and moved to take her place in the box. The only sound was the occasional rustling of clothing and muted whispers of prayer. Many of the prayers were in Latin, but one very old man, several rows in front of Javert, rocked slowly back and forth as he whispered a repeated chant
"Dieu, me pardonnent. Dieu, me pardonnent."
The words were nearly silent, but they seemed to ring in Javert's ears. Too familiar--too painfully familiar. The lead weight in his gut was back.
He tried to ignore the man by examining his surroundings. He hadn't seen the church in nearly fifty years, but it had that same Gypsy-lullaby familiarity. Fifty or sixty votive candles--half of them lit--stood in rows in front of an image of the Virgin Mary moulded in plaster. Those, plus the lanterns lit at regular intervals along the walls, filled the sanctuary with a golden-orange glow. The images in the stained glass were harder to discern without light filtering in from the other side, but he could manage. The common ones were easier to pick out--the crucifixion, for instance, with the gathered crowd and the men being executed on either side of Christ. The others were harder; he didn't know many of the saints depicted in the glass, or even all of the scenes from the Bible. In most of the windows, the colors seemed to blend together, dark and meaningless. The majority of the church was encrusted in ornate sculpture, statuary, gold leaf and crystal and marble. To Javert, it seemed gaudy, filled with art to the point of becoming ugly and claustrophobic. There was just too much, and it made him almost dizzy. He closed his eyes.
- - - -
Javert woke with a start, wrenching his shoulder out of the grasp of the man who had been shaking him. He reached down to his other side and had the cane in his hand almost before he opened his eyes. The dream faded, leaving in it's place the face of a priest, old and stern.
"Have you come to make a confession or simply to sleep in my church?"
Javert relaxed his grip on the cane. "I came to warm myself and to dry off. Falling asleep was purely accidental, I assure you. My apologies." Leaning heavily on the walking stick, he stood up. His legs were stiff and the ankle still twinged, but it was better for the rest he'd given it. The lamps along the wall had all been extinguished, leaving only the last few prayer candles and the lantern the priest was carrying as illumination. It was apparent that the anticipated sermon would not be forthcoming.
"You could have returned home and done the same," the priest grumbled.
"I am afraid not, though I thank m'sieur for the suggestion. I myself never would have considered it."
The priest narrowed his eyes. "You have no home then?"
Javert gave a short chuckle. "Pére, I am dead there."
The priest seemed startled. "Un revenant, then?"
"Correct in both senses of the word, Pére."
"Both?"
"A ghost, and returned from a long absence."
The priest sighed. "Well, Monsieur Revenant, I am afraid I cannot allow you to sleep in the sanctuary."
Javert nodded. "I understand." He moved to the center aisle and walked toward the doors. The priest called after him.
"If I may ask, where will you go?"
Javert shrugged, his back still turned. "Where ghosts sleep. The cemetery, perhaps."
"You have no money, then?"
He faced the priest. "Money, yes. But money is only good if a man can get something for it at a fair price. Experience has informed me that I cannot."
"You have been cheated, then?"
"I began this morning with twenty francs in my pocket." Javert pulled out the handful of coins, showing them to the priest. "I have fifteen now, and I have purchased only a bowl of stew."
"Wait a moment." The priest pulled a small notepad and a badly chewed pencil stub from the pocket of his cassock and hurriedly jotted down a note, which he tore from the pad and pressed into Javert's hand. "Turn right as you leave and walk two streets down to Auberge le Roi. It is not yet midnight; they will likely have a room open. Give this to Monsieur Girard, at the desk."
Javert looked at the note in his hand. It read, "This man shall have a room for the night. Do not charge him--the church will see to your repayment. Signed, Pére Nicolai Deveroux, Eglise Sainte-Vincent-sur-Rive." Another gift. Another kindness, from a creature who he would have disregarded mere weeks before. It was too much.
He tried to hand the note back to the priest. "You are gracious, Pére Deveroux, but I cannot accept."
"Why?"
"I did not come here seeking charity--only a short rest. My falling asleep in the sanctuary was most disgraceful, and I will not allow myself to burden you further."
The priest seemed surprised, but did not reach out to take the note back. He was silent for a while, and Javert felt awkward as he held the note out without looking at it, trying to avoid even the thought of accepting yet another mercy that he did not deserve. Finally,Pére Deveroux looked up at him and spoke in the same gruff manner in which he had woken Javert.
"Stay at the inn tonight. Return tomorrow, and we will discuss how you may repay the church."
It was Javert's turn to pause. He glanced at the note. Auberge le Roi--The King's Inn. His imagination began unbidden, conjuring up soft, warm beds, good food, and a room to himself. He ached for such things, comforts that he thought little of until they were not easily available to him. And he could certainly do some manual labor around the church. Sweeping, polishing, dusting...something. He looked at the priest again.
"When do you arrive in the morning?"
"Sunrise, for morning Mass. You are welcome to attend the service, if you would like. Afterward, I will have something for you to do."
He wanted to say no, and to leave. But a chill arose from just the thought of spending the night on a damp park bench. The warm bed at the inn seemed to call to him. He nodded. "I will be here. Thank you,Pére."
The priest gave him a half smile and nodded, making the sign of the cross in front of him. "Go in peace, Monsieur Revenant. I will expect you in the morning."