Prisoners
When the hot glowing iron touched his shoulder, Javert wanted to scream. He´d known it would be painful, he´d stood by many times while the prisoners got branded in Toulon, and they had all screamed. But he couldn´t. Mustn´t. They believed him a mute, and mute he had to remain. As soon as they knew he could talk they´d start questioning him, and if only one of them recognized his voice, his game was over.
The iron sunk into his skin, and he was sure it would burn right through to his bone. The pain was screeching in his brain, and oh he wanted to scream. But he bit it back. He would never find Valjean´s murderer if he lost it now. He was only at the beginning. And he owed it to Valjean not to drop the ball on this.
Eventually the iron withdrew. The pressure was off his shoulder, but not the pain. The burning sensation remained, as if to remind him of what he now was. A prisoner. A slave who wore chains, maybe for the rest of his life. A number instead of a person. 65725. That would be him from now on. And somehow Javert felt as if this was the rightful and deserved faith he suffered, for everything that he´d done in his life. For all the sins he had committed, in his false believe to serve the greater good. For all the years he´d done wrong by Valjean.
They told him to stay ready, for transport, as soon as someone decided what should happen to him. A process that could take days, maybe even weeks, Javert knew. Time that he would need.
The chains were heavy, the prison-clothes alien on him. He took it all. He took it in silence, accepting the possibility that he might not get out of there alive, ever again. Vidocq was right. If anyone recognized him, be it guard or prisoner, he´d be dead. No one in here would care to come and save his sorry ass. He´d die alone, he knew. He had accepted that. But he wouldn´t die without meaning. Not this time. This time he´d take someone with him. And he would make sure that the right person would pay.
The yard was littered with prisoners. Some of them working, dealing with their labor, closely watched by the guards – that was me, once upon a time, Javert kept thinking – while those who were not assigned to labor, just stood about. Watching, quietly talking, maybe plotting things, against the guards or even each other. Javert didn´t want to know. The times when he´d wanted to know were long gone. Now all he cared about was to find the man Billinger had described for him.
"He has the number 78460. I was told he´s a small man but has a demeanor that makes others fear and respect him. He´s blond, slight curls, bushy beard. Blue eyes. And he has a tatoo on each arm, right here, all around like a rope."
"What´s his name?"
"What?"
"You don´t know his name?"
"Is the description not enough?"
"A name sticks to the mind, more than a number."
"You know that from experience, I reckon."
Javert tried to focus. He hadn´t succeeded in intimidating Billinger with his glare. The young officer had a stronger character than he´d given him credit for. But hadn´t he been right?
The former police man let his eyes scan the men on the yard, comparing each of them with the description. And for a moment he felt strangely displaced. As if he was back in Toulon, a guard again, and when a skinny man with short cut hair and bushy beard turned around to him, he almost gasped, believing to see Valjean in him. But it wasn´t Valjean. And the man glared at him, suspiciously, obviously not happy to be scrutinized like that.
Javert kept gazing over the yard, away from him and his pal.
Billinger had been right. It was experience. But experience was all he had left in here. Even this young rooky had known that. He probably understood more than he told Javert.
"Let´s get this straight, inspector. I help you because you told me the truth. But I want to be honest with you too. It´s … so unbelievable … what you told me."
"I know."
"You didn´t say how. How you became … You swore to arrest him. He was a criminal. How did this happen?"
"I was asking that myself, over and over again."
"And?"
"And? It doesn´t matter. It makes no difference how it happened or why. He was there when no one else was. He stood by my side. Until the end. And I owe him the same."
"I´m going to help you. But technically I do nothing but put a criminal in jail. I guess doing this is still conform with my duties to serve justice."
"You´re not serving justice, Birringer. You serve the law. That´s a big difference."
"You know I can´t help you beyond the gates of this prison. If you go in there you are alone."
"I know."
And this was nothing but the truth. It didn´t matter. This was how it had always been. The fact that his life should end like this, was only fair. He´d be content with it. As long as it served his purpose.
He finally spotted a man that fit the description. He was sitting on a bench, at the far end of the yard, staring at everything and nothing while idly chewing an old piece of bread. His face was haggard and his eyes strong, even though they lay deep in their sockets. He had a lot in common with the Jean Valjean Javert had known back in the days. But he wasn´t Valjean. He was the man who´d help him find Valjean´s murderer.
"Hey Quasimodo." someone suddenly grabbed his sleeve. "What´s up with the face?" the man instantly began to fiddle with his bandages as if wearing them was an offense in this place. "Now?" he demanded. "Lemme see the pretty face you´ve got there."
Javert raised his arms, fending off those hands and shoved the man back. He almost roared at him, to stay away, and remembered just in time to keep his voice hidden. His glare seemed to be more than enough though. And what he got in response was not less hateful.
"You seriously wanna pick a fight?" the man before him already rolled up his sleeves.
Javert realized too late what he had started. Before he even knew what happened, he was surrounded. Prisoners who either were with this guy or simply wanted to watch. Javert had seen fights like that back in the days. And he knew they could go horridly wrong for the surrounded man. When they were unprepared, outnumbered or simply weaker than their attackers. And he was outnumbered.
Was it already happening? Was this already the end? If he lost now, he´d lose forever. Maybe he was good and lucky enough to get out of this with a few injuries, maybe one or two broken bones was the best he could hope for. Considering how this man looked, he would not stop if Javert lay on the ground.
He prepared, more or less ready for the fight, not at all ready for the injuries he would have to suffer. But it never came that far. A truncheon suddenly went down, between the two of them, and a shout, full of authority demanded to know:
"What the hell is going on here? Are you picking a fight again, 86406? I told you I would not tolerate any more of these."
"It wasn´t me." the addressed prisoner claimed, when two other guards took him. "It was the mummy over there. He started it."
Javert skipped back when all eyes searched him, shaking his head. But as it turned out he didn´t need to do much to convince those guards about his innocence. His attacker seemed to be well known.
"I´m supposed to believe that for a change, you are just the misunderstood victim?" the guard pushed the prisoner with his truncheon. "If I see you making trouble just one more time, 86406, you´ll spend the next month in a hole where no sunlight ever shines, you got that?"
The man scowled, full of hate but answered with a sulking: "Yes."
"Good." the guard nodded at his colleagues. "Ten lashes. Just as a reminder. And the rest of you …" he faced Javert warningly, as the prisoner 86406 got led away. "Back to your own business. The show is over."
It was an order Javert obeyed only too willingly. He´d gotten lucky, but who knew how long this luck would last. God, he had forgotten what to look out for, in such a prison. His time he had spend in one was too long ago, and his focus was diverted. His goal was too fixed, it had made him forget all about his surroundings. A mistake he could not afford to make again. This mission was too important to risk it like that.
The man he´d been looking for was still sitting on his bench. Of course he´d seen the whole thing, and now that Javert approached him, he was watching. Suspicious about this obviously disabled guy, that now scuffled over the yard to the benches – and him.
Javert dragged his feet, purposefully walking slow, as if the fight had left him weak. He didn´t glance at the man, when he sat down on the bench, his back to him as if he were the last thing on his mind. But obviously his act of playing uninterested did not fool this man.
"What do you want?" he demanded, after a minute of silence. The warning tone was unmistakable.
Javert glanced over his shoulder, trying to read the man, but unfortunately the stoic prisoner was hard to estimate. He chuckled at Javert´s silence.
"You still wanna pretend you can´t talk?" he asked. "Fine. As long as you stay away from me."
Javert dropped the act at last, and turned around to him. "You´re the man that killed Lecomte." he spoke, quietly. "Aren´t you?"
The smirk in the prisoner´s eyes vanished, behind a mask of stone and he got up, to walk in on Javert, threateningly.
"Who wants to know that?"
Javert remained seated. He probably would have towered over the man, but just like Billinger said, he had a demeanor that made him seem taller than he was.
"Just someone who would have wanted to kill this guy himself." he answered his question.
The man regarded him, frowning deeply. Thinking. "Is that so?"
Javert only looked up at him.
"What did he do to you?" the man wanted to know. "That?" he pointed at his bandages and Javert shook his head.
"He killed someone. A woman that was very close to me."
"I see." the prisoner, raised his chin, licking his back tooth in consideration. "Well, that guy seems to have caused a lot of deaths." he said eventually. "You´re welcome." Having said this he turned around.
"And now leave me alone."
"Why did you do it?" Javert hurried after him.
"Not your concern." the man growled, trying to ignore him. But of course Javert could not do him the favor.
"I´m afraid it is." he said and grabbed the man. Luck was with him yet again. They had reached a spot where, if he was swift, he could easily drag him into a shady corner, out of sight for guards and other prisoners. And this was what he did.
The attack came too unexpected for his man to react in time. Javert pushed him against the wall, using his chain to choke him and hold him in place.
"I know you didn´t do it, just because you felt like it." he hissed into the man´s face. "Someone hired you, and I want to know who it was."
Instead of answering him, the prisoner kicked out, driving his knee into Javert´s upper leg and only a second later he dealt out blows, punches that were uncoordinated but full of rage. A man who knew how to fight for his very life.
Javert received a lot of hits, but he could deal out just as well. He found his balance back and blocked the punches that came his way, directing them past his face into the air. His opponent was raging even more, when his fists hit nothing. Javert circled the furious man, to get the wall into his own back. When another punch came his way, he finally pushed the fist aside, past his cheek and right into the brick wall.
A terrible crunching sound was followed by a cry of pain. Javert did not wait for his enemy to overcome the shock. He grabbed his other hand and twisted it up, behind his back, pushing the man face first into the wall.
"All right, I´ll overlook this attempt of disrespect." Javert hissed. "As long as you answer my question." There was still no response but he could clearly feel the defiance in the prisoner´s muscles. He was still fighting him. Javert forced the hand further up, inflicting more pain, and the man cried out again.
"I have no problem breaking your hand and your arm right along with it." Javert told him. "And if that isn´t enough there are still enough other bones in your body, man. Don´t think the guards will be fast enough to save you from being a cripple the rest of your life."
"What do you want?" the man asked.
"I want an answer. Who ordered you to kill Lecomte?"
"Why? What´s it to you? And don´t give me that crap about your girlfriend again."
Javert forced the hand up again.
"The man who hired you, has killed my friend. And I am probably on his list too. That´s what it is to me."
The prisoner seemed to think, even through the pain Javert still inflicted. "If you´re a police spy …"
"I´m not." Javert stopped him right there. "What I just told you is true."
The man in his grip, craned his neck a little more, to look at him and Javert allowed the movement. It seemed as if he started to believe him.
"Why is he trying to kill you?" he asked, and Javert released a little more pressure yet again.
"That´s what I want to find out. That and where I can find him."
"Find him." the man echoed and laughed out. "You´re in a prison. You won´t find him in here."
"No." Javert said. "But out there I will. And you´ll help me."
"And how am I supposed to do that? You did notice the walls, right? And those chains?"
"I´m sure he promised you to take care of that."
When the prisoner looked at him this time, his defiance was overshadowed by an anger that almost looked pouting. Because Javert had guessed his secret. It was childish.
Javert nodded. "I´ll be with you when he comes to get you out. And then you´ll introduce me to your friend."
"And why should I do that?"
The man seemed to have forgotten that his hand was still under Javert´s control. So Javert thought it wise to remind him. Only this time it didn´t seem to be enough to inflict physical pain.
"You can break my arm if you want." the man panted. "But that won´t make a difference. It´ll only make it harder for me to get out of here unseen. And that would also spoil your escape."
Surprised Javert finally let go. But the man did not attack. He only massaged his hurting arm.
"Who are you?" he asked.
"My name´s Javert. I was the one who brought Lecomte to court. Me and my friend."
"The one who died."
"The one who got murdered. And I want his killer. Simple as that."
The prisoner was still thinking, still trying to decide. "You are a cop." he stated.
"Were." Javert corrected. Other than that he didn´t say anything, just waited for the man to ask his question.
"Was your friend too?"
"No. He was a con." For a moment Javert halted, reconsidering. "An ex con." he corrected.
The prisoner was startled, and for some reason it made Javert angry.
"He was a saint." he told the man, to make sure he knew what all this was about. "And he did not deserve to die like that. Whatever your pal told you about the reason for Lecomte´s death, he told you nothing but lies. There was no reason in this world to kill a man like Valjean."
The prisoner before him was frowning, lowering his eyes for a moment. "Was that his name?" he asked. Javert nodded and the man nodded back. "I guess if a cop …"
"Ex." Javert talked over him, insisting, and the man raised his brows, impressed.
"You guys seem to have quite a story, indeed."
"Will you help me or not?"
The man was still thinking but Javert could tell that he´d begun to think in his direction. "He´s an acquaintance from the old days." he finally started talking. "I only did what he asked, because he promised to get me out. And because I knew who Lecomte was."
"A cop?"
"A traitor. I might be locked in here, but I hear what´s going on out there. This guy would have bitten the dust by someone´s hand sooner or later anyway. Could as well serve me to my freedom."
Javert had to bite back a sharp response. "So what´s the plan?" he asked instead. "How does he plan to get you out? And when?"
"Are you trying to mock me now?" the prisoner snapped. "You know exactly how and when."
Javert only stared at him, not understanding.
"You wanna tell me that it is total coincidence that you show up on the exact day the break is supposed to happen?" the man cried, and finally Javert did understand.
"It happens today?"
The prisoner frowned, irritated. "In the evening." he affirmed. "You seriously didn´t …?"
"How?"
The man regarded him, considering. "I´ll show you." he promised, and gestured for Javert to follow. "Come on."
...
When the sun was setting at the end of this day, Javert was standing in the line of prisoners, waiting for the guards to count them. It was a strange out of body feeling. To see the chains on his wrists, the clothes of a prisoner covering his arms, the still stinging sensation of the brand on his arm. A number like Valjean had once worn it. In some way he´d never been closer to Valjean than he was in this moment.
We become what we fear.
Javert had never stopped believing that. But in some way this thought was now somehow comforting. It felt as if Valjean was standing right next to him, right by his side, in this place that was so close and yet so far from everything Javert had ever tried to accomplish. Never in his life had he expected to end up here, in this place, even less that he´d be here by choice, ready to die as the very thing he´d always despised. But if it should be this way, so be it. He had accepted that risk the moment he´d broken into Billinger´s apartment. And maybe on some level, he was even hoping for that.
I´ve been worried about you, Antoine. Ever since you started to show those suicidal tendencies. You don´t seriously think about doing that, do you?
Javert closed his eyes, willing the voice away. Stop that. This isn´t real. And no, I´m not gonna kill myself. Not before I haven´t found this bastard. Not before I don´t know I can take him with me. So do me a favor, Valjean, and shut up. I need to focus if I wanna find your killer.
"Hey!" someone nudged him in the side. Duprey – that´s his name, Billinger! – Javert´s temporal partner in crime. His tiny blue eyes regarded him now, very aware, almost alarmed. "Are you still with me, pal?" he asked. "Focus. I need you awake."
Javert gave him a glare, but kept his mouth shut. The guards were too close, and so were the other prisoners. But Duprey understood him. He accepted the unspoken words, nodding satisfied.
"Stay ready." he instructed him, quietly, and lowered his eyes again, when the guard walked past them, counting their row.
Just as the man reached the far end of their row, one of the prisoners there cried out, at the touch of the guard´s hand on his shoulder. The man swayed, still whining and dropped forward, into the guard, who caught and shoved him back, annoyed.
"Stop that!" he demanded, but the man kept whining.
"You bastard!" he cried. "You brutal bastard."
Some others threw glares at the guard, grumbling angrily, and the man quickly turned defensive.
"I barely touched him." he cried, but of course the prisoners saw it differently.
A few other guards hurried to stand by their colleague, supportive, but by doing so they left their own positions unwatched. Of course the prisoners took advantage of that – every chance for a riot, even the smallest one, would be taken with glee by men who were made to live in chains like those. Javert watched how one man started pushing an unprepared guard, alone now after his partner had gone to support the other. The same thing happened on the other side of the yard, and everything after that went down too fast for Javert to remember it in detail.
All he knew was that suddenly, the guards had to deal with a lot of shouting and shoving. Fists were flying and truncheons fell on backs and heads, and all Javert knew was that this riot was something he would have fought down with determination twenty years ago. Now he took advantage of it, just as Duprey had planned it all along.
It was amazing how simple it was. One man payed to start the hassle and the mindset of the crowd would do the rest. Now the guards were too busy to notice two single men sneaking away from the tumult.
The door into the building was unwatched. No need to guard it. Where would a man go other than to his cell? But of course the cells were not their destiny today. It was the rooftop.
They had approximately two minutes until the guards would have the tumult under control again, and maybe one more until they noticed that two prisoners were missing. Another minute until they´d start searching the place and close in on them. If they were fast they might have a chance for another minute, due to the fact that the rooftop was not the first place they would search, to find a con that tried to run.
If Javert was honest, it would have been the last place a con would chose to make his escape. But climbing over the wall was no option, not as long as it was still daylight, and the only windows that were not barred were the tiny holes up in the roof. Duprey had shown him and he had been right.
They were not barred because they were tiny. Because the way to the basement was locked. Because there was no way down that roof even if someone should manage it to get out of the windows there. Not if he didn´t want to break his neck.
And yet, this was exactly the place they were trying to reach.
Don´t say it, Jean. I know what you want to say. It´s too late for that.
The locks of the door that led to the basement was old, Duprey had said. Easy to break open with enough force. And to get down was the part his partner in crime had promised to take care of. A rope was all they needed, and in order to get a rope all Duprey needed, was a thin and long enough thread.
"It´s not very complicated to break out of prison." he´d told him. "It´s the run itself as soon as you´re out. Not to get caught again. And this is where my old friend takes over."
And this was the thought that drove Javert from that point on. That the man he was hunting would wait for them right outside this prison. That all he needed to do was getting over with this and he would get his chance. Everything after that would not matter anymore. As soon as he had him, he would gladly take a bullet, as long as he knew his killer would too.
The chains were the biggest challenge. He had to get rid of them before they had to climb down. And time was short. He only had as long as it took Duprey to throw the little stone he´d tied around his thread out of the window, and pull up the rope his friend would attach for him. Javert tried not to think about it. It was hard enough to work with this little piece of shit the prisoners were getting for a spoon. He almost didn´t think he´d make it, opening the lock. Eventually it did snap open though, just as Duprey was done winding the rope around the beam above the window. His feet were free. But his hands – there was no time left to try again. And Duprey was already at the window.
"I go first." Javert demanded, and took the rope, not even intending of giving Duprey an explanation.
The criminal did not object. He even helped him climb up to get out of the window. It was a tricky thing. His shoulders got in his way. He needed to wriggle back and forth, stretch out one arm – not easy with the chains hindering him – and pull the other shoulder behind, in order to fit through. The fabric of his rag got torn, and he lost a good deal of skin in the process. But in the end he was outside, sitting on the sill for a moment until he was certain to have enough balance to put his foot on the shingles.
He slipped, only for a moment, before he found his grip.
Javert took the rope and moved hand over hand along the rope, until he reached the edge. Carefully, he lowered himself down. The chains were rattling but did not disturb him all that much. Now all that was left for him to do was hoping that no one would spot him until he was down.
Soon. Soon. Just a little bit more. A few more meters. The glimpse he threw down, provided him with a figure standing there. But he had to focus on the climbing or he would fall. So he didn´t see who was waiting there, until his feet finally touched the ground.
He jumped down, ready to attack instantly, and froze, when he saw a woman. Not a man. And her eyes were on him, just as irritated as they were suspicious. Her stance was defensive, reacting to his threatening posture. Javert had no idea if she really knew how to fight to defend herself but seeing her now, she reminded him a lot of Marianne. Too much.
"Who are you?" they asked each other almost simultaneously and Javert had to remind himself of the fact that talking too loud was dangerous in their position.
"Get down, you idiots." Duprey agreed on this notion, as he reached them. He ducked down instantly, making an example, and hid in the high grass of the field.
Javert cursed and went down as well. This was not what he had expected. Who was that woman, and where was his murderer? Had he hired someone to do his dirty work for him? Had he guessed trouble? Was he waiting behind the treeline?
"Adeline." he heard Duprey hiss. "What …?"
"Philippe sent me to get you out. He told me to keep a fiacre at the ready."
"Where is it?" Javert asked, eyes scanning the walls of the prison. He could hear them. Shouts from inside the walls. They were running out of time. Soon they would start looking for them outside the walls. And this rope was easy to spot.
The woman eyed him, with this strangely suspicious glance one last time, and for a moment he felt as if he should watch his back when he was around her.
"Adeline." Duprey urged her, and finally she turned and gestured for them to follow.
They had to make their way through the grass, crawling like dogs, to keep from getting spotted, knowing that the lane they drew behind would probably be easy to spot from above anyway. The chains made it twice as complicated, allowing only a limited usage of hands and in Duprey´s case legs too. Still, some higher power must have been with them, because somehow they made it to the treeline undisturbed.
Javert watched out, the whole time, for any man that might be waiting for them behind the trees. But no one was there. Instead the woman urged them on, running ahead, through the wood, and while Javert´s feet were free, Duprey visibly struggled not to stumble and fall. Javert stayed behind him, just in case he should fall after all. They couldn´t afford to lose time, so Javert was ready to pick him up quickly if it should be necessary.
What he was not prepared for though was that the stumbling fugitive before him, suddenly looked strangely familiar. Short cut hair on a scarred skull, skinny yet muscular figure, and a slight limp that dragged behind an injured leg. Valjean must have looked similar pitiful when he´d tried to run from prison all those years ago. Now he was running again, and Javert was yet again, pursuing him.
Would it never end? Was that all he could ever be? And him? Was there nothing more?
Javert had to will the image away. No. Stop that. It wasn´t Valjean running there before him. It was Duprey the criminal who´d killed Lecomte. A murderer just like the man Javert tried to hunt down.
Focus, Antoine. Don´t get distracted again. Focus.
He was right. Distraction could mean death. And he couldn´t afford this.
The fiacre waited for them on a footpath, just behind a small slope. Nothing fancy, just one horse, but enough for them to hop in and drive off, away from the area where they´d be looking for them. If Javert had had the time and the heart for that, he would have felt cheated by how easy it was to break out of a prison like Bicêtre. And if he ever found the will for such things again, he might write a letter to the prefecture, informing them about the holes in their security belts.
Duprey began fiddling with the curtain that covered the window, only a minute into the drive, and tore off a piece of something, Javert could not identify. It had been used to hold the curtain, that was all he knew.
Duprey handed it to him. "Uncuff us." he practically ordered, and in his lack of any other exercise during their ride, Javert gladly obeyed. He would feel better without those chains himself.
It took him about ten minutes to trick the locks on Duprey´s chains into snapping open. The convict threw the chains off with fervent disgust. Javert made no gesture to comment on it, just went to work on his own cuffs. The last remaining thing that made him a prisoner. Except for the brand on his shoulder. Just like Valjean had worn it all his life. God, how it must have been. To know. Always reminded, that he wore his worst secret plainly on his very own skin. And now it was him, Javert, who wore that very same sign.
When the chains finally gave his wrists free, he took them off, but somehow found it hard to let go of them. What had become of him? This was where he´d come from. What he´d always fought. He had returned to it. And even though this was not his place, even though he was not really a criminal and prisoner … he almost didn´t want to forget about it. Even though this was false. Even though the feel of metal on his hands was disgusting as hell. But somehow it was important. As if somewhere in these chains, he could find Valjean again. The prisoner. The fugitive. The only man he´d ever met that ever truly cared for others. Even him.
"How do you know to do this?" Duprey asked into the silence, startling him up. The convict looked at him, still massaging his own wrists. "Did your friend teach you to crack locks?"
Javert snorted, finally dropping the chains. "No. Valjean had no idea how to pick a lock. There were a lot of things he had no idea about. This is the reason why he´s dead. He was an idiot and way too trusting."
"A way too trusting dead idiot you would now give your life for." the criminal mentioned, shrugging as if this notion was not much to talk about. "Sounds convincing to me."
Javert gave the man a scowl. "Who says I plan to die for this?" he rasped, but Duprey was not impressed at all.
"Your eyes."
For a moment Javert was speechless. But only for a moment.
"Listen, criminal." he hissed. "Let me get one thing straight. What I´m planning to do, is not your concern. You´re only to lead me to my murderer, and everything after that is not your business. You will leave and not look back. And I will abstain from pursuing you. I don´t care where you go or what you do with the rest of your pitiful life. All I care about is him."
"Him."
"The killer."
"Of course."
Javert frowned, irritated, then angry. Was this man trying to mock him?
"You know …" Duprey spoke, starting anew, and his eyes wandered behind himself, as if he tried to point at something. "Adeline. She´s his wife. You´d make her a widow."
The notion filled Javert with the briefest moment of guilt. The moment came and it passed. "Valjean had a daughter, who is now an orphan because of this man. And don´t even get me started on all the other people he killed in this fire. There were children among them. Women. One of them a witness we had under our care that night. So don´t you dare telling me to show mercy. He doesn´t deserve any."
The criminal did not give another response after that. He simply leaned back and nodded, as if he truly understood. As if.
...
They were driving slowly, probably to not attract attention, and when the fiacre finally stopped, Javert felt strangely reminded of the night when he´d come home with Valjean. Getting out of a fiacre, after sunset, to a small house in one of the middle class quarters of Paris … all he needed now was Cosette and her boyfriend stepping out of the front door and the madness would have been perfect. Perfect enough to make him believe he had only dreamed this whole ordeal. This nightmare.
But Cosette and Marius did not step out of the front door. No one did. And the man who stepped out of the fiacre after Javert was not Valjean. It was Duprey.
"Come on in." the woman urged them, unfriendly, and led the way to the front door. The fiacre didn´t seem to concern her. Maybe she simply wanted them inside, before anyone spotted the two men in prisoner´s clothes.
"Why are the blinds shaded?" Duprey mentioned. "Are you expecting trouble? Is anyone looking for Philippe?"
"No." Adeline answered, unlocking the door. "But for you."
That was probably true. Still Javert couldn´t help but feel a slight form of claustrophobia when they entered the house. It was dark inside. The little lamp Adeline lit was not helping much. But since she didn´t seem to consider it necessary to light any more, they simply followed her when she led the way.
"Philippe is in the back." she told them. "He´s waiting for you."
Javert glanced about, as best as he could. The darkness was deep beyond the shine of light of the little lamp, but he believed to see a lot of buckets standing all over the room. And the carpet under his feet … it felt … wet? What was the matter with this place?
He didn´t get a chance to think this thought through. Adeline opened a door for them. And Javert focused. If his murderer was really in there, he would have to be ready.
They followed her inside, and Javert scanned the room, stacked up with lots of old furniture, heavy curtains covering the windows, but otherwise it was empty. No one was there.
"What is this?" he asked, turning back to the woman. And that was the moment when he heard the sound of the lamp hitting the ground.
The light exploded into his face, blinding him with the sudden brightness in this so far dark room. And before he knew how to properly react, the door had been closed behind them. He could already smell the stench of the burning carpet.
"Adeline!" he heard Duprey yell, as the criminal threw himself against the door. "ADELINE!"
Javert kicked the burning carpet aside, against a sideboard but the wood was dry and only fed the fire. Dammit.
Duprey hammered his fists against the door, threw his shoulder against it, but it didn´t move. All the while the flames ate their way up the furniture, reaching for the curtains and all around the room. Thick smoke was rising and collected under the ceiling. And all Javert could think was … trapped. She trapped us in here. Like rats.
In his mind he saw the buckets again, all over the living room, felt the wetness of the carpet under his feet again. And the door. He joined Duprey, and touched the wood. Not to try and open the door, he was sure it was bolted safely. But he needed to know. And he was right. The door was wet. Drenched with water. To resist the flames.
Javert closed his eyes. How could he have been so blind? He´d run right into it.
Duprey abandoned the door, and rushed to the window. The curtains were blazing by now, but he reached past them anyway. And it wasn´t until the window hit the bars that he noticed they were trapped. Javert just couldn´t believe it. The air around them was getting unbearable, heat and smoke making it impossible to breath. Duprey doubled over, shaken by his coughs. And Javert looked about, desperately trying to find a way out of this hell.
But everything around them was of wood – fuelwood. Javert dismissed the thought and grabbed the next best thing that looked as if it could serve as a ram. The glass shattered easily, but hitting the shades through the bars was a real trick. He made it once, hit a bar the second time, and slipped. His sleeve caught fire and he jumped back, slapping onto the flames frantically to smother them. Ridiculous considering their surroundings.
Duprey picked up the beam and continued what he´d interrupted. He hit the bars as well but those lost tries only seemed to increase his determination. Fire took hold of his sleeve too, but other than Javert he simply ignored it, yelling in his pain and rage, and finally, finally the shades flew open.
The convict cried out and let go of the beam to try and get rid of his burning clothes. Probably in vain anyway. The flames had long reached his face, Javert could see and most important smell it, even over this insane heat all around them. He rushed to the window, and grabbed the bars. Fast. Iron. No chance. And that was when he saw her.
She was just standing there, right in front of him, looking in, as if she´d been there all along. To watch them burn. As Javert looked she raised a gun, silently, without a change in her features and he skipped back. His instinct kept him from taking more than one step back into this all eating fire, that was already suffocating Duprey behind him. And all the while she was just looking, aiming her gun, and there was something in her eyes, something cold, but not less burning than the fire around Javert. Hot and merciless. And that was when he understood. He´d been so wrong.
She wouldn´t shoot him, Javert knew that now. Her gun was merely an order. Don´t move. Don´t try anything. Don´t survive.
She didn´t want to shoot him. She wanted to see him burn. In this little extension of hell she had created for them. And as Javert glanced about himself, at the blazing curtains, furniture and the by now half dead Duprey, who wouldn´t manage to stay away from the flames much longer, he finally saw that he had miscalculated. That he had underestimated his enemy and that there would be no miracle to save his sorry ass just one last time. They were trapped, and here in this tiny room he would at last pay for his sins, his arrogance.
Javert stepped back, his heart seized by the profound shock of disbelieve, about the realization that his life would end. Finished. That was all he could think. He had failed. His death would be the same as Valjean´s. As if this had always been his fate, ever since this had begun.
Maybe it was.
He´d been so blind.
Please, he pleaded, praying for the only thing he could still hope for. Please, forgive me.
But forgiveness was not meant for him. This fire was. And in the end Javert let go, and ruefully surrendered to the heat.