Fugitives
Valjean had never believed, not in his boldest dreams, that he´d ever see the day, when Javert, inspector extraordinaire, would really, truly, seriously steal a fiacre. But this was what happened, right now, before his very own eyes.
The driver was standing behind a corner, to release himself, his back to the street, and before Valjean knew what happened, Javert dragged him behind, to the coachman´s seat and heaved him up. A second later he sat beside him, whipping the horses, and the shouts of the poor driver faded behind them, almost drowned out by the noise of the trampling hooves. It was a miracle that no police man showed up to chase and arrest them. Javert truly must have lost his mind.
But on the other hand … he should have caught up to this little fact, when Javert had shown up at the Pontmercy mansion, dressed, unshaved and dirty like a beggar, asking him – him! – for his help. Of course he was out of his mind. How else could be explained what was happening right now?
Maybe it was the knock on the head, he had received behind the barricades, Valjean mused. He remembered the blood on the inspector´s forehead. Maybe that had messed him up, worse than Valjean had believed. Could such things be? It was the only explanation that seemed to make sense, why a character as unyielding as Javert had always been, could change so radically, in such a short time.
The carriage leaned into another curve, and Valjean felt his stomach turn around. If Javert would keep driving like that he would leave his lunch behind, that much was for sure. Heat was rising into his head, making his vision slightly blur. And finally, finally Javert slowed down, letting the horses run in a mannered tempo.
Valjean took a deep breath, to steady his stomach. They drove the street almost as if it was totally normal that a man, with the looks and clothes of a beggar, drove a fiacre next to a gentleman with blood on his coat. God, it was a blessing that people were too busy in the evening hours of the day, to look up at every passing carriage. Otherwise they would have drawn much more attention.
"I must say …" Valjean couldn´t help but comment on their situation, and if it was only to see how the other man would react. He said: "You astound me, inspector. Stealing a carriage is not what I would have expected you to do, even as a last resort."
"It´s called requisitioning a vehicle." Javert rephrased the action, and Valjean chuckled.
"That´s what you could call it if you´d still be police." He didn´t get an answer. But after a while Javert rolled his eyes, away from him, mumbling something that sounded like:
"Maybe I have more of my father than I always wanted to believe."
He had said it into another direction, and still he had spoken loud enough for Valjean to at least hear it. Was he not sure if he wanted to share this?
Valjean frowned. "Your father?"
"Forget it."
Javert was still not looking at him. And yet his eyes told Valjean to indeed leave it be. That whatever had made Javert speak out this little piece of information, was now gone, and the vault of secrets had been closed up, once again.
There was something strange in the world, when two men, as different as they were, could find themselves in such a place, together. Valjean had always believed in a higher plan – or he´d learned to believe it, when a wise man had taught him so. But how strange could God´s way be, when it led him on a path like this? He didn´t understand this. He didn´t understand it at all.
The steady sounds of the horses on the pavement, became white noise, and Valjean felt that he was getting dizzy, be it from exhaustion or from the blood loss. Suddenly the carriage stopped, and he was wide awake again. They had not reached the mansion. Not by a long shot.
"What are you doing?" he cried, and Javert ordered him, as calm as always:
"Get in the back."
What? "We need to get home to Cosette."
Javert only raised a brow at his urgency. "The faster you get back there, the faster we can keep driving." he told him. "You won´t help your daughter if you fall off this carriage."
Valjean stared into this careless face, but obeyed. What else could he do? But Javert better really kept driving, and fast. Or he would not be so nice next time he ordered him around like an inferior. Who did this man think he was?
Thanks God the carriage indeed started moving, as soon as he sat inside, leaning back against the cushions. And soon his thoughts started spinning along with his head, swirling back and forth between Cosette and what he had seen and heard. About Javert, about this conspiracy, about Cosette being in danger … Oh God, please don´t.
...
The moment Cosette heard the cab approaching the mansion, she knew it was her father. She hadn´t waited for Pontier to watch out – the good servant was probably busy enough with other things – so she was the first to notice the sounds of the hooves, coming up the driveway. Marius looked after her, startled, when she jumped up, in the middle of the conversation, to hurry over to the window.
"Cosette?" he asked, uncertain.
"That must be him." she told him, her eyes on the carriage. "That must be Papa coming back."
And that was the moment her eyes focused on the driver. What in heaven´s name …? She couldn´t remember to have ever seen a cab driver that looked so … unpresentable and poor.
"How strange." Marius uttered, having appeared beside her. He´d seen the same thing. And something inside Cosette just knew that this wasn´t good. That something was wrong. Terribly wrong.
"Marius." she instinctively reached out for him, in her need for support. And he held her hand, just long enough for her to gather some strength from him, before her feet independently carried her out of the room, to the front door.
As she rushed out of the door, her father just left the cab, depending on the support of this strange cab driver. And when the man looked up at her, she finally recognized him.
Javert!
And her father was injured. Blood on his coat. Weakened. All because of him.
"He needs to be bandaged." Javert spoke, but all she saw was the pale complexion of her father.
"What did you do to him?" she spat, taking her dear Papa to lean on her shoulder, not on his. She wouldn´t see him lean on this man, who must have done God knew what to get him home like this.
"Please, Cosette." her father panted, as she dragged him towards the door. "It wasn´t his fault." She glanced at him, almost as angry at him now – how could he possibly defend this man? – and saw her father halt, as if to reconsider. "Well." he made. "Maybe half of it."
Cosette glared at Javert – what was this ridiculous disguise supposed to be? – and the inspector gave her father a look, as if to ask: Really? You insist on percentual distribution of blame now?
"Oh my God." the soft voice of Marius, disrupted her anger, and when she turned, he stood there, in the doorway. And by seeing him so worried and aghast, Cosette´s heart settled down, focusing on what was really important. Not her anger, not her disgust for this man that should be ashamed to call himself police inspector. No, right now it was about her father, and his injury, wherever he had gotten it.
Marius turned around, calling over his shoulder. "Gilbert! Bring water, and fresh bandages. We have an injured man here."
Cosette felt unbelievably grateful, and if that was even possible, her love for Marius grew even more. As if her soul was graving for love, especially in this moment.
She reached the door, and her father took Marius´ arm, to keep him from running ahead of them. As if he didn´t want to enter the house.
"Papa." she tried but all his attention was on Marius.
"Where´s your grandfather?" he asked, still panting in his pain. "We need to leave this place, immediately."
"For god´s sake, man, give them time to patch you up." Javert appeared beside them, and Cosette felt the familiar anger rise again.
"We don´t have time." her father objected. To the man´s words, not to his presence.
"Why?" Cosette asked. "What is the matter, Papa?"
"There are men." he told her, and Marius, so urgently. "They will come for you. All of you."
"Why?" Marius had paled at his words. But he was still so attentive. Ready to do whatever was necessary, whatever was in his power.
Cosette watched her father, swallow, in a way she only knew it from him, when he didn´t want to speak out the truth. And then he met the gaze of the abhorrent inspector.
"I got involved in something." Javert answered for him, as if her father´s gaze had just made him admit his sins. "Something very dangerous. And they will not hesitate to hurt you all, to shut me up."
"Shut you up?" Marius repeated, and without Javert having to say anymore, he seemed to guess something. As if he knew more than Cosette could ever guess, about these things.
Oh, how she wished to know the same things. How she hated her father for never telling her. Now it would be important that she knew, and now there was no time for her to learn all this first. Had he never known that this day might come? He must have known. So why, why had he never told her? Now it might be too late. How was she supposed to protect him and repay him for protecting her all these years, if she had no idea of the dangers that came after them? Had he never thought of that? Had he never even considered that? Oh, this silly old man.
The servant came with bandages and she sat her father down, into a cushioned armchair, barely able to step back and let them treat his wound. When the cloth got peeled back and the blood oozed out from under his skin, she almost cried out in pain. No. Please, don´t let him die. Please.
Her eyes found Javert, only for a moment, before Marius took her into his arms, and the hate in her heart melted away, with her despair. All she wanted was to let him hold her, and cry, for her dear Papa, for herself, for all of them. Because this was what this devil Javert had said. That whatever had happened to her Papa, could happen to them all.
I always knew he´d bring us harm, she thought. I knew it when he entered our house. Papa should have never trusted him.
"We need to leave." she heard her father´s voice, distorted with the pain caused by the servant´s treatment. "I can wait." And he actually tried to get the servant off himself, to make him stop.
"Papa, no!" Cosette cried, but Javert stepped into her way.
"He´s right, Mademoiselle." he said, astoundingly soft, but this put on tone could not fool her. He turned to Marius. "Please." he urged. "Talk to your grandfather. And let the servants prepare for a quick start. Only take what´s absolutely essential. And hurry."
Once again Marius´ gaze was so aware, and something in his eyes was so awake, as Cosette had never seen it before, not a single time in all those days that she had spent with him, to revive his spirit. He nodded at the inspector, eagerly, and hurried away, leaving Cosette alone with her poor father and this monster in human form.
She moved away from Javert, backing up, until she was by her father´s side, and fell to her knees, hands grasping his. Please, God, she prayed. Protect us from this evil.
...
It was barely an hour later – an hour that had passed like minutes, but Marius remembered this fleeting perception of time, in battle situations – that they stood outside, with two carriages packed and ready to go. The cab, Cosette´s father had brought with him, and his grandfather´s very own carriage.
The servants had been sent back inside, after they had packed the very few indispensable items. The order was to maintain the mansion until their masters would return. And they would of course follow this order, even though Marius could tell that some of them had not felt too well with the idea. They knew something was going on. Only none of them would dare to ask.
"Monsieur." Marius stopped the stranger, that had come to their house to warn them from this danger, short before the coachman´s seat.
The man turned to him, impatiently, and once again Marius felt as if he should know this man. His eyes. There was something so awfully familiar about them. But right now they were also very humiliating, as if nothing that Marius could want to ask, could be important enough to delay their departure.
"Where are we going?" he asked anyway, and the older man only looked back at him, with a face made of stone.
"For now? As far away from here as possible."
And with that he climbed on the seat, and Marius, feeling so small as if he were a child again, went to his grandfather´s fiacre, to join Cosette and her father.
...
It was several hours into the drive, night had settled in, when Javert suddenly recognized the area they drove through. Just as the small house appeared in the distance, he knew for sure. He stopped the cab a few hundred feet down the road, and got off.
"What is it?" the baron asked, when he reached the other carriage. "Why do we stop?"
The door of the fiacre opened and Valjean peeked out, followed by his daughter and the boy.
"That´s an Inn over there." Javert told them. "I stayed there once when I traveled on police business out of town." he looked them over for a second, before he added: "I believe it´s best if someone unsuspicious makes the arrangement."
He didn´t need to speak it out. Valjean, even though he still seemed sleepy and stiff from the long ride, caught up at once. He turned to his daughter, leaning against the door of the car with his bad shoulder.
"Cosette. You do that. Take some money. Tell them your name is … Pineau. Say you´re traveling with your family and that we need rooms."
The girl´s eyes found Javert, full of hate, at Valjean´s words. Family. But she took the money and made her way over to the house, nonetheless, not speaking a single word. They watched her go, and Javert had no idea why he mentioned it at all, but he suddenly found himself next to Valjean, murmuring, only for him to hear: "I don´t think your daughter likes me very much."
The other man looked at him, startled, and Javert gestured unobtrusively for him, to take a few steps, away from the Pontmercys.
"Does she know who I am?" he asked, quietly, when they were – relatively – alone. "Who I really am?"
Valjean reacted uncomfortable at this question, and that alone told Javert that he´d been right with his assumption.
"She … remembers." the ex-convict started, nervously fiddling with the sling over his shoulder. "But not all. She doesn´t trust you."
Javert nodded. "I noticed." For a moment he hesitated, looking after the girl, even though she was long gone from his view. And he couldn´t help recalling her hateful gaze. "Do you think I should lock my door?" he asked, and as an afterthought: "Does she own a knife or some other weapon?"
Valjean stared at him, wide eyed, and then simply began to laugh. "You can´t be serious, Javert."
Javert frowned deeply at this strange reaction. "I was very serious." he informed Valjean, but Valjean did not stop smiling heartily at him. This stupid blissful smile, Javert had always taken for deception. Now it felt like mockery.
"I thought you´d learned some things these last few weeks, about human nature." the ex convict smiled. "Javert."
Javert had no response to that. He didn´t even know what this man meant by that. And then he noticed how a frown appeared between Valjean´s eyes, as he regarded him. What? What was it now?
As if he´d heard the question, spoken out loud, Valjean shook his head.
"Please don´t take that personal." he said. "But … God, you look awful. I mean, really … this whole …" he moved his hand before his own face, to indicate the appearance. "It´s so odd. That´s just not you anymore."
Javert snorted, smirking, and raised a brow at him. "That was the idea, Val …" he halted, and quickly checked one more time, their distance to the baron and his grandson.
"Still." Valjean just went on. "You exaggerated. You always exaggerate."
Javert gave him a face. "Says the man that sacrifices eight years of his life to raise the child of a dead prostitute, out of guilt. You´re not the one to talk, Valjean."
"I didn´t sacrifice anything when I took Cosette." Valjean objected, gently. "I won life. And you´re the one to talk, inspector. Dedicated like you were, to catch one fugitive, over all these years."
Javert only raised a brow, not dignifying this remark with an answer. Just as he tried to search another spot to look at, Valjean decided to insult him even more.
"We´re not so different than you think, Javert." he spoke, and Javert´s head snapped back, to glare at him.
"Don´t you dare saying that ever again." he rasped. "You hear me?"
Valjean only chuckled, and for a moment they just looked at each other, in an almost peaceful silence. The convict and his life long pursuer. How could the world have turned upside down like this? How could things be, that were so wrong and impossible? And how could he, Javert, allow it? Turning to his worst enemy, in his darkest hour. How had all this happened? Surely staring at Valjean like an idiot would not solve this riddle. Would it?
"You know what doesn´t let me go?" Valjean spoke up again, serious all the sudden, and Javert skipped back a little, cautiously.
"What?"
"There was something Moreau said. He said you …" And this time Valjean looked over at the two other men. " … took out three of his men. But it was three that attacked us at Lecomte´s … and three at the pharmacy. Right? That would make six men. Not three."
Javert recalled the facts, thinking back. "Six dead men." he nodded, commenting Valjean in silence on his recollection. "And yet he only sees three of them as his."
He could tell on the other man´s reaction, that he understood the unspoken. Valjean held his injured arm, protectively, when he asked: "Then who sent the others?"
But here Javert had to resign. "I don´t know."
"Excuse me, gentlemen." the voice of the baron, caught them both off guard. The old man and his grandson had approached them after all, without any of them noticing. "Maybe I can help you with this." the old man offered. "My family is well known in this city, I have many friends. I could find out what you need to know."
Behind him the boy watched his grandfather with curios worry, unable to decide where in all this he should stand. And somehow Javert could relate to that feeling.
"It´s too dangerous for you to go back." he told the old man, but the baron shook his head.
"I am a baron." he reminded him, with conviction. "From a very old blood line. They will not dare to touch me."
Javert looked into the gray eyes of this man, so small and fragile as if he could be broken in half by a strong hand with no problems, and there was something there, something that made even him hesitant. And glancing briefly at the boy beside him, he understood.
"All right." he nodded, unable to not respect this bravery. "But be careful who you trust."
"Don´t worry." the baron spoke, lightly, as if this was truly nothing. "I might be old, but I know how to find my way through a maze."
"I´ll go with you." Marius offered, now finally deciding where he wanted to stand. But his newly found spirit quickly got calmed, by the elder.
"No, Marius." he told him, with a gentle smile. "You´ll take care of your young bride." And as he padded the startled boy´s hand: "Make sure she is save. And take care of yourself, too. I will see you when all this is over."
Marius, even though Javert was sure he knew better than to just believe his grandfather, nodded, obediently, the fear so clear in his eyes. Maybe one day he´d be ready again, and strong enough, to object to an offer like that. But right now, so shortly after the barricades, he just didn´t have that strength. And Javert doubted the old man would see the day, when his grandson would find it again.
A hand took his arm, dragging him aside, while the old man was still busy talking his grandson out of suicide.
"We can´t allow this." Valjean hissed at him. "He´s wrong when he thinks his title will protect him and you know that."
"I know." Javert looked into his eyes, and this was all it took. "But so does he." And Valjean understood. Javert turned his back to the others. "Don´t tell the boy. Or your daughter. They will sleep better when they don´t worry about the old man."
...
Cosette turned to her father, when she heard the hiss. He was sitting on the bed, holding his shoulder. His injury.
"Papa." she tried to help him, but he shook his head.
"I´m fine."
"You´re not fine. You´re hurt. Every time this man is involved you get hurt. He´s a devil. And we should not travel with him."
"Cosette, please."
"No." this time she was furious. How could he not see it? How could he allow this? "I won´t lose you." she told him. "Not like this. Not when I can stop it from happening."
"Stop it from happening?" he repeated startled, shaking his head. "Cosette, dear, what are you talking about?"
Her face was hard when she looked at him, her eyes burning with unshed tears of anger. "You know what I´m talking about." she whispered. "You must know. You always kept me save. From him."
She could see in his face, that she was right.
"You protected me, hid me, so he wouldn´t find us. Because you knew he was bad."
And here he shook his head, but she wouldn´t let him talk.
"Because you knew he´d tear us apart, destroy our lives, take everything from us, that made our lives good."
"Cosette …"
"Because you knew that men like him do things for no other reason than to cause pain. Because you knew …"
"Cosette, please!"
"It was the truth for all these years!" she shouted, insisting, and finally the tears fell. "That´s what you taught me." she sobbed, desperately trying not to cry. "Why I feared him." She couldn´t hold the tears. She couldn´t.
"Is that what I made you believe?" she heard his broken voice, over her own sobs. "With my life long paranoia? Is that what I made you see?"
She looked up at him, seeing his face through a cloud of water. And he was so hurt. But for her. Always for her.
"Oh, dear lord, forgive me, Cosette. I never wanted to teach you such hate. Such fear." He took her hands. "I always only wanted what´s best for you."
Cosette looked down at his hands, one of them weak from the pain in his shoulder. And her own hands found his sleeves, once again forcing them up, to reveal his wrists, scarred, from pain so many years ago. And just as always he flinched back, as if the scars were still hurting him, when touched, even by her. Or … especially by her.
"Did he do that to you?" she managed to ask, her throat aching. "Did he …?" but she couldn´t finish the question, unable to imagine what this man must have done, to leave such scars.
His eyes were emphasizing, gentle, as if she was the one to be pitied, not him.
"Oh, Cosette." he took her hands, faster between his. "He never did anything to me. He didn´t."
Now it would come, she knew it. He finally would tell her the name of the person who´d hurt him. The devil in human form.
He said: "I did." And Cosette´s heart stopped for a moment. What?
"Everything that happened to me in the past … was my own responsibility. The years that left me scarred … as well as the years that left me blessed." At this he touched her cheek, so light, only with his thumb. "I´ve tried to blame others for the pain I had to go through. Javert was one of them. But the truth is … I did this … all of it, to myself."
"No."
He nodded. "It´s true. I would have had choices, all my life. Only it took me way too long, to realize this. To realize that everything that would happen to me, because of my actions … wasn´t in God´s hands. Or anyone´s. But in mine. If I would have made different choices, my life would have been different." He smiled. "Maybe less painful. But also less blessed. For I would have never found you. So let´s not judge the past, my dear. There´s always a higher plan. For everything."
And at this, she just didn´t have the strength anymore. The tears started to flow and he held her, for as long as it took.
"I don´t understand this." she whispered, when she could finally speak again, wiping her eyes, red by now. And her voice didn´t sound like her own anymore either. "What is all this? What higher plan has brought us here? Where are we going?"
He sighed, sadly. "I don´t know yet, Cosette." And he shook his head. "I can´t expect you to understand. It is very complicated and even I don´t understand it all yet."
"Then explain it to me." she begged. "How can I understand if you don´t talk to me? Please, Papa. I´m not a child anymore. If you want me to go on this journey with you and this … this man. Then I need to know why."
And this time, when she looked into his eyes, she was sure, for the first time in her life, that he would answer her.
...
Only a few doors away, Javert sat alone, not even guessing what the mood was like between Valjean and his daughter right now. He was too exhausted to care for anyone´s mood but his own. God, he was so tired. All he wanted was sleep and forget. Rest. Only he couldn´t. His mind simply wouldn´t let him. It wouldn´t let him leave it all behind, not even for tonight.
The worst was that he was unable to think. Any conscious thought seemed to have abandoned him. All he had left instead was a turmoil of pictures, images, feelings, impressions, colors and shades. Nothing that had any kind of shape, nothing he could put in any form of order. Total chaos, within his mind. His heart.
What had he done? What had happened to him, to let him end up like this? He´d been grand once. Respected. Above this level, that he´d always hated and despised so much. And now? Now he was right back where he´d come from. Wasn´t he?
But no. This appearance he wore lately was only a disguise. Born of necessity. It didn´t mirror his true self. It hid it, so he could live another day, and fight those who had done wrong. Just as he´d always done it. Serving the law. Doing the right thing. On the path of the Lord, who always rewarded those who did good.
And that was what he would do. For it was his duty. Still. No matter what.
Javert got up, and walked to the small bureau, to the tiny mirror that stood there. His image was a mess. He was filthy, and his head looked like a skull. Something that wouldn´t change all too soon, as long as his hair didn´t grow out again. His eyes were bloodshot and the beard he´d grown to hide his face was bushy and just messy. A real catastrophe. Just like his mind was right now.
Regarding himself now, he had to admit that Moreau had been right after all. He had let himself go. The disguise might have been intended, but not that much. It was about time to correct this mistake.
Maybe he was unable to clean up the mess inside his head, for now. But at least he could do something about this outside mess.
And after he´d done that, he´d start working on how to correct the other wrongs that had been done. One step at a time. One at a time.
...
In his own room, the room he would have shared with his grandfather, had he stayed as Cosette had believed when renting the rooms, Marius tried to settle down. Only he couldn´t. His heart was a turmoil, never able to focus on only one thing at the time. Cosette. This impossible situation. Cosette. His grandfather who went back to solve a riddle Marius didn´t even know. Cosette. Her hate towards this man, that had obviously come to help them, and bring them someplace save. Away from the place his grandfather was now going back to. Alone.
He had taken the smaller carriage, the one Cosette´s father had brought. A stolen cab obviously, according to Monsieur Javert´s words. But somehow this little fact didn´t seem to bother his grandfather too much. He´d only looked surprised for a moment, before he accepted this fact without another word.
Marius didn´t understand anything anymore. His grandfather driving a stolen carriage? Knowingly? What kind of danger was he trying to protect them from, when he was content with such measures? And a danger it was, Marius simply knew that. Just the way his grandfather had hugged him, before climbing on the seat. The way Monsieur Javert had wished him luck, and his grandfather´s response to it:
"For all of us."
Marius felt helpless. Vulnerable. More than ever before in his life. With one exception maybe. But even that was no comparison to what he felt now. Because now he didn´t know what to feel. Except fear. From something he didn´t even know.
Something was coming after them. A dark lurking danger, and Marius simply had no idea how to face this. Make sure your bride is save, his grandfather had said. But how should he do that, if he didn´t even know what he had to protect her from?
Once … he´d wanted nothing but fight. For the right thing. But that had been in another life, before he´d seen all his friends die. And nothing was different. All the things they´d wanted to change, to make come true, it was all still the same. So much loss … for nothing. And a part of Marius had died along with them, at this barricade. What was left of him, was only a shadow of the fighter he´d been. Alone in the dark, frightened, not of the danger, but of his own weakness. Of the unknown.
Where was his grandfather going? Did he know that he would die? Where were they going? Did they know if they would die too? Did Cosette´s father know? Or his strange friend? Maybe it would have been better if he´d never woken up, after the barricades.
Marius closed his eyes, trying to fight the tears, and failed. He tried to sleep and failed too. Eventually he drifted off into a restless sleep, neither really sleeping nor waking, always drifting out of a bad dream and back in. And all the while his eyes noticed the change of light around him, as the moon passed by his window, and later as night slowly turned into dawn, dark and uncertain. Just like his dreams.