Hey all. Once again, thanks for your reviews. I'm not sure if this will be the last chapter or not…I sort of want it to be. It was actually a lot of fun writing this piece, and I hope those who reviewed this piece will review my others. I do plan on making "Without You, I'm Gone" a bit longer, as I have some good ideas for that one. So, keep your eyes peeled for that one.
He had been present, had been down in the crowd. As he watched the girl be carried up the steps of the gibbet, he wanted to scream out, to in some way stop the execution. But, he knew that once he did so, all eyes would be on him. There would be hushed whispers and fingers pointed, questions of why he, the archdeacon of Josas would want to save some Egyptian girl. And he would feel obliged to say something, that or he would run away, afraid to face what might happen next. He choked down the word "stop!" He choked down any need to save her. In his lifetime of knowledge, of study, did not know how he could save her, at least not without himself being dragged up those same steps. He could confess, it was not too late for that. But, there was no guarantee that he would not hang beside her today. His face went white as the rope was placed around her neck. He now questioned why he had not just run off with her, why he had given her up to Gudule. They could have been miles away from Paris now. The fact remained that they were not, and that soon she would be dead, he soon would feel guilt set in.
His mind scrambled to find some way of saving her. For a brief moment he looked up, remembering that the captain could save her. He would go run and fetch the captain. He would stop everything, the people would see that he was still alive…and…and…and she would see him. She would rush to his arms and she would cry in his arms. He would have to witness what he thought to be worse than her death. Claude hung his head in dismay. And then, perhaps the captain would not stop the execution at all, perhaps he was too busy with some other girl. For a brief moment, head hung, he silently prayed that Quasimodo would rush down and save the girl once again. The girl would once again be safe, and they could escape from Paris! For a moment he was hopeful.
But why would God listen to his prayers now? God was just some imaginary being cooked up by man to give meaning to life and death, God was just some temporary fix to a permanent problem. No, God did not exist, so there was no more use in praying.
He shook his head, wondering why God was not listening, wondering why nothing had happened yet. And then he heard the crowd cheer. And then he looked up, realizing that something had just happened.
She was twirling in little circles, the ground had disappeared beneath her. He had not heard her last words, he wondered what they were and at the same time did not wish to know. He wondered if she had asked for forgiveness, if she too had been praying. He now wondered what her prayers had been for.
He knew that tomorrow morning he would wake, he would look outside his window and he would see her there, dancing as always. He decided then and there that he could not deal with that sight. It was time to take matters into his own hands, something he had never really done before.
As the crowd dissipated, he found himself still standing, staring at the ground. He could take his life right then and there, take a dagger and plunge it into his heart. In that moment the thought of the act made sense. The act of killing himself made sense, however the method was too quick.