Disclaimer: I do not own any aspect or variation of Les Miserables. That genius belongs to Victor Hugo and all of those who followed.
Title: Reprieve
Summary: Sometimes life gives us a second chance, but are we too weak to take advantage of this gift? Javert had thought he would die; he had hoped he would die. However, it seemed that life had not finished with him just yet. How can he hope to make a new start with all that had transpired? Life has an answer to that, as well.
Author's Note: So, I hope nobody is too disturbed or scandalized yet. You may be having thoughts as to what is going to occur, but you may be wrong. For those of you who have read the book, remember how much in love Cosette and Marius were at the very end. Can that be so easily broken? I hope I am not giving anything away. Just keep an open mind. I know that this story is not everyone's cup of tea, and that is what I like about it.
Chapter 4
- Point of No Return
He followed them back to a quaint, yet well-established abode. It was but a few miles from the gardens, and he already assumed that they enjoyed the air during the walk and that they preferred this mode of transportation when traversing back and forth. They remained quite leisurely in their pace, whispering back and forth to one another along the way. Javert found it more and more difficult to hear what exactly was being shared as they found their way further and further into the throngs of pedestrians within a more central locale.
He found it easier to go unnoticed as he trailed them—blending in quite nicely with the rest of the citizens. He no longer stood out amongst them, but found himself, to some more subdued level of disgust, as one of them. He ignored those passersby, staring directly at Cosette's back as it weaved delicately in and out of the crowds. He felt wholly consumed, as though a force pushed him forward to an eventual meeting. Yet, there was no idea in his mind as to how he would even begin to approach her or how to strike up a proper conversation. He could not even fathom talking with the young woman. He feared he would make such a fool of himself and perhaps chase her away forever.
He did not want to give away who he really was. He was only Jori Cortelle and nobody else. Even so, there was so much he yearned to ask her and learn from her. He was quite good at putting on a false persona, yet he did not like so much the idea of lying to her. He recalled when he had fooled the students banding against his troops. But, that also reminded him of the generosity of a petty thief and a world turned on its head, and he had to stop thinking of that time.
Perhaps he was panicking to some degree and that his answer lie with that man that had altered both of their lives in such a major way, to a point of no return.
The house they pulled into was surrounded by a cast iron gate and a charming garden. There was a stone bench positioned beneath the single willow tree that stood amongst the shrubbery and flowers to the side of the front door. The mere façade of the building indicated the comfortable cost of the abode, let alone how he imagined the inside was furnished. He loitered out of sight, but watched intently as they were administered into the house by who he could only assume was their housemaid. The length and growth of some of the vines and plants allowed one to remain hidden against a moderate length of fencing, much to his relief and detestation. He hated to think of any other man with crueler intentions in mind standing right where he was.
Oddly enough, Javert did not move a single inch as the day passed into twilight. He kept his gaze fixated on the ordinary house, though it never stirred, either. There was a bay window on the main level that once had its curtains open, but he watched the maid draw closed as the light outside began to dim. He watched windows flicker to life one by one with induced lighting. As he stared at the shadows flittering beyond the glow, his mind began to play unhealthy tricks on him.
"Are you there, Valjean?" he whispered to himself at one point, though the more lucid part of his mind knew that, from the information given, the man was dead. However, his eyes seemed to become filled with his obsession of long ago. "Are you awaiting my miraculous return? Are you expecting me to come crawling back to you, as if you were my newfound savior?"
He cracked a rather disturbing, crazed grin. His teeth shone bright and jagged in the darkness that surrounded him. He believed, somehow, that he could see the ex-convict sitting in wait in one of the windows. He clutched the black bars of the fence tighter, more violently.
"You do not realize, but I know you are there," he continued, quite madly. "Little do you know, however, that I shall wait until you fall asleep and sneak upon you like a panther in the dark."
It was quite something that Javert was talking to himself about a deceased figure of his past. It would have been quite the spectacle to all of those who had once known him as the inspector. Was he losing his mind? He very well may have been. Perhaps it was survivor's guilt. He knew he was never supposed to have lived past his archenemy. He certainly realized that now. In the grand scheme of things, where everything is not as it should be, he had suffered in ways that he would have only expected those who have broken the law to. One had to admit that it definitely toyed with the mind in fairly dark and twisted ways. It would have driven weaker men into insanity long ago, but Javert was strong. He evolved and prevailed rather than shrinking into submission, as so many do. He would prove that he could overcome, just as he once had.
It was near midnight when he was finally motivated into action. He had managed to convince himself to penetrate the residence so he could discover whether or not Jean Valjean was waiting inside. He needed to appease himself in this manner. Later, he would not be able to tell you what had spurred this on—if it was really some insane part of his character that drove him to it. He would not be capable of confirming or denying what he had hoped to find once he had forcefully entered the residence, or what he had imagined the family living inside would do upon finding him. Or, worst. How he would react in either circumstance to the residents of the house.
Javert paced the perimeter, surveying the area for the easiest way in through the locked gate. There didn't seem to be an easy answer for this, as it stretched at least one and a half men tall all around and there were no breaks in the iron. He tried to remain to the shadows and paused at every noise he heard. He had operated once within the law, but now he felt as though he had fallen into the complete opposite. Anybody who saw him would have agreed.
Finally, he discovered what he believed to be his best option. At one point, there were a few bush-like shrubs with their branches rather mangled together and poking out toward the fence. He found that he was just able to stretch his foot inside of the gate and use the thick intermingling branches as sort of leverage to boost him toward the top. With his knapsack tucked inside of his shirt so that it would not fall loose, he managed to grab between the many sharp turrets and hoist himself up.
He had started to swing his legs over, hovering over these sharp peaks by maintaining his weight on his hands, when he felt himself teeter. The muscles in his arms were also shaking from such strain and he could already sense the inevitable. When his elbow gave out, he was not the least bit surprised. His body shifted toward the ground.
Suddenly he saw water beneath him. His heart raced against his chest in an all too familiar manner. The fear still crossed his face, though he had already foreseen the plunge. He sucked in a deep breath, much against his will, as he braced himself for the billions of sharp needles of the cold Seine.
Much like before, all that met him at the end of the fall was just darkness and nothingness.