Into the Dark

The time after the events at the castle were like a fog to Cosette. She could barely remember the details after the police had entered the place. She still knew how they had gotten … what? Arrested? Rescued? She recalled a lot of shouting. The baron, demanding that someone should try to help the dying Javert. Her father´s eyes on her, so strange, and tired, as if he didn´t even know her. Or maybe … what had become of her.

They´d escorted them out, back to their homes. And for hours and hours Cosette had waited in her room, for those responsible to decide what should happen to them now. Marius had wanted to stay with her, but she had refused, wanting to be alone. She had retrieved to her room, while all over the house, police men had questioned her father, the baron, Marius. Everyone involved. Cosette had heard their voices, faint and impossible to understand through the walls.

And all the while she´d fallen. Fallen into a never ending abyss. Something inside her soul had died that night. She had felt it fading away, in those hours. She looked down on her hands, wringing, and her whole head was swirling, while the same time her entire mind was steady and unmoving. As if no feeling whatsoever had been left inside of her. Except for this hollow something she couldn´t name. But if it was close to any known feeling, it was related to despair.

Cosette did not know how much time had passed, until the door finally opened and her father stepped in. She got up from her bed, meeting Marius´ eyes over the shoulder of her father, ever so briefly. But he did not enter. As if he knew that this was not his place to be at. That this was something only Cosette and her father could work out.

None of them spoke a word. Still she could see the pain in his eyes and when he took her into his arms, Cosette allowed it. But it was different. The warmth she´d used to feel in her Papa´s arms, was not as comforting that night. The coldness that had taken over her soul could not be chased away that easily.

"Why did you do it?" he asked, and his voice was so low. So broken. Of course he didn´t need to say what It was.

She had done it knowing that she´d take the life of a man. And she hadn´t cared about this life. She´d even wanted him dead.

Her father seemed to read all this in here face, even though she never said a word.

He sighed, so deeply, as if it hurt him more than anything had ever hurt him in his life. What she had done. What had become of her.

"We need to talk." he said, his voice so broken, and she could just sit down, without a word, and then she listened. Listened to him for hours, as he told her, told her everything.

She heard it. Heard the story of her mother, her death, of a man who´d lived a life of a fugitive, a lie before the world, for stealing a loaf of bread, once upon another lifetime. A man who gave his word to a dying woman, to take care of her daughter. She heard the story of this man, him, and the man who´d hunted him. Javert. She heard it all, and more. And not a single time she spoke a word. Did not ask any questions. She didn´t need to. He told her, all that there was to tell. As if he could not, even if he wanted to, stop, now that he finally confessed this truth.

When he was finished, Cosette felt empty, and at the same time way too full for her to ever bear it all. Who was this man? Her father whom she´d loved her whole life. Who had her mother been? The woman she had loved so unconditionally as a child, who had died so far away from her. Who´d been Javert, the man from her nightmares, who had hunted them so mercilessly all those years. Who´d saved them all just a few hours ago, accepting willingly that he would have to give his own life for it. Nothing in her life seemed to be what she´d believed it to be. Not anymore.

And what about herself? Who was she in all of this? Who had she been in all those years? And who was she now, after this night? After what she´d done? She didn´t know. Not anymore. Maybe she had never known at all.

"Cosette?" her father addressed her, carefully. "Please, my child. I am so sorry."

But Cosette could not answer. She wanted to, but couldn´t. Somehow she managed it to hug him, show him that she didn´t hate him. That she was not the one who had to give her pardon. That all she knew was that she didn´t know anything at all.

She wished she could tell him this. That she could ask, beg him for help, and guidance. To show her what to do with herself now. How to go on. But she couldn´t. The demons of this night had stolen her voice. The demons that had made her do these things, that had planted such hatred in her soul, and who had stolen her emotions.

She left her father´s warm embrace and ran away from him, in shame and sorrow.

...

"Please, Madame. You must let me see her." Marius was trying uselessly to convince the servant Toussaint to let him in. Cosette had chosen to stay at the house, away from her father, away from anyone, even him. The police was guarding the place, like they were guarding all of them until further notice. But Cosette had not left her room, the servant said. She did not speak, did not want visitors.

"She asked me to let no one in." the woman told him, apologetically. "Not even you, Monsieur. I´m sorry."

"Where is she?" he demanded to know. "I saw her, just before. She´s not upstairs. Where is she?"

The servant didn´t answer. But somehow Marius knew it anyway. "She´s in the garden, isn´t she?"

"Monsieur!" Toussaint cried after him, but he was gone already, rounding the house, to reach the gate. He would speak to Cosette. If this woman wouldn´t let him into the house, then he would see her otherwise. And if he had to break in, while Toussaint was attempting her duties at the apartment in Rue de l´homme armee for Monsieur Fauchelevant, he didn´t care. Somehow he would get rid of this police man that followed him everywhere. Even now.

But right now this silent guard was the farthest thing on his mind. All he cared for was Cosette. And then he found her, just as he had guessed, in the garden. On her own. And when he saw her, he almost believed to see a ghost. She was sitting on the bench, at the back door of the house. Her head was bowed, her hands folded in her lap. Through the branches of the bushes, she seemed lost, like a child to him.

The gate was closed. He couldn´t enter.

"Cosette!" he called, and she looked up. But she did not say anything. For a moment she tensed, and he could see her eyes, glistening with tears.

"Cosette, let me in. Talk to me."

But she wouldn´t. She looked at him for another silent minute, before she simply stood up, and went back inside the house, not speaking a single word. As if she ran from him.

Marius stood there, thunderstruck, and didn´t know what to do or say. It was the last time he ever tried to reach her in her solitude.

...

He didn´t know anymore what to do. After so many years of avoiding a fight, he´d lost them all, in one night. Cosette was isolating herself from the world, and he who´d always tried to protect her by doing exactly that, did not know how to help her. If she wouldn´t even see her love Marius, how could he help? He was an old man.

Dear God above. Should he at last lose the battle on all those fronts? Should he lose them all now? First Javert, now Cosette, who he´d believed to have lost before, but now it was so much worse. Now she had lost herself, in a darkness of her own mind. One that Valjean feared to know only too well. Oh, he´d always tried to protect his daughter from this shadow. And now? He´d pushed her into it, all by himself.

Oh God, what had he done to her?

So much pain had been caused, maybe not by him alone, but what exactly had he done to keep it from happening? Javert had been right. He´d always been a coward. Always trying to run away from his problems instead of facing them. And now? Now it was too late. The damage was done. The victims were once again those who deserved to be spared.

Why was life so cruel? Why was it always taking everything? Was there no hope left in this world?

This apartment had been so quiet these last few days. As if it was a tomb. And wasn´t that even the truth? He felt as if he´d been dying away too. The police before his door, as if he was in prison once again. Only Javert was not his warden any longer. His daughter was gone, and Javert … too. Valjean had no hope left by now. Not anymore. Not after Marius´ visit and what he had told him about Cosette. What kind of father could keep up hope after such a message?

Oh God, if you had only taken me. My soul was yours all along. Why did you allow hers to get lost like this? Couldn´t you have taken me, and save all the others instead?

Or was that his punishment? For all his crimes? Before and after Toulon? Was it that? That he should live to see everyone else around him perish? Was that God´s plan for him? Had the bishop been that wrong back then? It certainly felt like that.

In this moment Valjean would have been happy to lay down and die, to follow those who had already died in this adventure. And maybe he would have done exactly that, had not in this moment Toussaint called out his name.

...

The air around him was foggy, the daylight hurting his eyes, his brain, his entire being. His mind didn´t want anything more but to crawl back into the dark where it had just come out of. Why did he have to be here? Why did it have to be so bright? And who was making all that noise?

He turned his head and spotted a woman, busy on the table near his bed. He recognized her but didn´t remember her name.

When she turned around and saw him, she gasped. And for a moment it seemed that this was all she was capable of. Until she found her voice again, and ran out, yelling for her master.

"Monsieur! Monsieur Fauchelevaunt! You must come fast. He´s awake."

Great, Javert thought. And now the whole neighborhood knows that.

A minute later a man stood in the door, paling visibly when his eyes fell on him. As if the fact that he saw him alive was a shock for him, not a relief. Eventually he dropped onto the bed beside him.

"Dear God, it is so good to see you awake." he exclaimed. "You´ve been sleeping for three days."

Javert didn´t answer, didn´t fight off the hand that checked his forehead, didn´t try to comment or react to this strange sort of caring that he surely wasn´t used to.

He tried to speak but couldn´t. His throat was totally dried out. His coughing hurt, closing his throat as if he´d tried to swallow glue. It was almost impossible to even breath. Valjean was holding him, like a child, and all the sudden there was a glass on his lips and water, cool and fresh, filling his mouth. Javert gulped it, greedily, and soon, way too soon, the glass was empty.

It took a moment to recover. Deep raspy breaths. But then at last his head began to clear. He was alive. And he could see again. Valjean was still beside him, still holding him as if afraid he could begin to shake again.

"What happened?" Javert asked, at last the master of his voice again.

Valjean just sighed, and allowed him to lay down again, as if the task of holding him was too much of a burden all the sudden.

"Far too much." he answered his question, and Javert frowned. That wasn´t good.

"Mind to be a little more specific?" he rasped, coughing again when his throat tickled.

Valjean refilled his glass with new water and handed it to him. Javert took another gulp, gratefully, and finally his host gave him a real answer.

"The police came in and saved us." he told him. "We´re under house arrest. Everyone, even the baron. So they can keep control over the investigation and everyone involved. We´re allowed to leave as long as a guard is with us."

"So everyone … got out? Your daughter? The boy?"

Valjean nodded, but there was something deeply sad in his eyes. "They´re … unharmed." he said, and nothing more. "You saved us all." he added and those words were so obviously forced, only meant to comfort him, Javert, where it was obvious that Valjean was the one who desperately needed comfort. For what reason ever.

"Are we charged with anything?" Javert asked, only to get away from this wave of unwanted concern.

"Trespassing." Valjean forced himself to answer. He seemed grateful though, to be allowed to talk about simple facts. "Participating in an unwarranted operation. Vidocq got the worst. He says they´ll probably shut down his force for good this time. But they accepted the evidence his men found." he nodded at Javert´s hopeful gaze. "Jacques was successful too." he affirmed. "Lecomte will go to prison. For a long time. So will Talbert, the mayor´s secretary."

"What about us?"

"We will be cleared. At least for the murder charges and the treason. The evidence is strong. Although … there are some minor charges that remain. The stolen carriage …"

Javert couldn´t help. He chuckled at this oh so familiar way of handling a case. Yeah, sure, the carriage was of high importance.

"Don´t worry." Valjean told him. "I have a good lawyer, he´ll manage the necessities. None of us will have to go to jail."

One more time Javert smiled, only this time his smile increased to a dry laughter. Oh, what a joke of a merciful fate.

Valjean, the real ex convict, didn´t seem to share the humor. "This world really hasn´t changed a bit." he sounded bitter. "They charge you, while in fact they should give you a medal. You didn´t have to stay and do this. You could have run."

Javert watched this man beside his sickbed closely. "So could you." he mentioned, never moving his eyes away for only a second.

But Valjean shook his head. "I´m not you." he said. "I´m not a police man." He sighed, and his sigh was shaking. "I´m just a fugitive. Running away, rather than face the battle."

Javert was frowning, irritated. "What the hell is the matter with you?" he asked. "What are you even talking about?"

But Valjean shook his head, once again. "Never mind. You need to get better, that´s more important now." he got up at last. "I´ll ask Toussaint to bring you some soup."

And with that he left, leaving Javert with the deepest frown, and more questions than he had woken up with.

...

Cosette swirled around when he entered the place, staring at him wild eyed, as if he was a burglar. God, the poor kid, the baron thought. He had rarely seen such pain, not in all his years. But she was a young woman, not meant to live through cruel things like these. And so of course he understood.

"Monsieur." he heard her breath, trying to regain her posture. "I told Toussaint to let no one in."

The old baron smiled. "I intimidated her with my title." he admitted shamelessly. "And this young man´s uniform also made some impression." he gestured for the guard at his heels, making the man visibly uncomfortable. "I needed to see you." he told Cosette.

"This isn´t appropriate. How dare you …?"

"I had to see you." he insisted, gently but firm. "For Marius´ sake."

That at last seemed to get through to her. She was still tensed, as if she expected a physical attack. But her eyes wandered, quickly, as she took his words in.

"What about him?" she asked, clearly worried.

"He doesn´t sleep." the baron told her. "Barely eats. He´s weak, Mademoiselle. I´m afraid he will fall ill again, if you don´t come and see him soon."

The young woman only stared, as if he was a monster, threatening her instead of begging her for her help.

"What makes you think I could help him?" she asked, and almost angrily added: "You need to get him a doctor."

"He saw a doctor." the baron assured her. "But he needs you. He´s like this because he´s worried about you, my dear."

As if those words had ashamed her, she cast her eyes down.

"Please." the baron begged. "Please, come with me, and talk to him."

"I can´t." she tried to smile, apologetically, but it betrayed the tears she was suppressing. "I …" she shook her head. "I just can´t. I´m sorry."

"Why?" the old man inched closer to her. "What would possibly keep you from seeing the man that you love? You do love him, don´t you?"

"Of course."

"Then why won´t you come with me? Why won´t you see him? Dear God above, just tell me."

But all she did was shaking her head.

"I know what bites you." the baron sighed, deeply, feeling the pain in his heart as if it was his own. "It´s the same ill that soldiers feel after returning from battle. It´s the same pain Marius felt when he survived the barricades. Don´t you see? He´s the one you have to seek out. He can help you through this, the way you helped him through his pain."

But once again she shook her head. "It´s not the same."

"It is."

"No."

"What makes you think that?"

"Because he hasn´t killed a man in cold blood, when he was there."

For a moment the baron just stared at her, unable to compute. But then his mind went back to work, and he took her hand.

"My dear, you didn´t kill anyone. What happened was an accident. The inspector survived. And Marius … what he did at the barricades … I´m sure that of course he …" he forced himself to stay at the point. "He will understand." he assured her.

But all his well meant words, all his gentleness didn´t change anything. She was still shaking her head, vehemently.

"It´s not that." she sobbed. "I know he´d … I know." The tears finally rolled. "It´s just that I can´t. And as long as I can´t understand myself, I can´t go and see him. I just can´t."

The baron groaned inwardly at her pain. It hurt, so much, to see that. "My dear …"

"Please." she let go of his hands, practically shoved them away. "Just leave me. Tell Marius I´m fine. That he shall not worry about me." And having spoken this, still crying the thickest tears of pain, she swallowed, and composed herself. "Tell him that I´ll see him … soon enough. Just not now."

And the old man, just didn´t know what else to do, than grant her wish.

...

It was a weird feeling to sit down with Valjean, on his table, in his home, getting food served by him. As if it was totally normal to have him, Javert, the man who had chased him all those years, as a guest in his house.

"Where´s your servant?" he asked, quietly, while Valjean filled the bowls with soup.

"At the house." was the brief answer. His host didn´t even look at him. "She can´t be at two places at once. And I rather have her look after Cosette."

He sat down, and started to cut some bread.

"Why isn´t she here?" Javert was a little irritated by the fact that Valjean avoided his gaze so sternly. "Your daughter I mean." he suddenly felt uncomfortable. "Is it because of me?"

At this Valjean´s eyes flickered up, just for the briefest moment, before he dropped them again.

"Maybe." he admitted, reluctantly, still slicing the bread. "But …" he shook his head. "That´s not it. It´s my fault as well. Mostly … actually." He at last, let go of the knife, as if the exertion of working through the bread was too much for him.

"You had an argument?" Javert took a guess but again Valjean shook his head.

"The truth is not easy to take." he said, his voice tired. "Especially not such a truth." he sighed. "I never wanted her to know."

And finally Javert understood. "You told her."

The other man closed his eyes, as if those words had hit him like a fist. "She made me. I had no choice. Damn it."

Javert couldn´t help it. He was mesmerized. "So she knows?" he asked. "Everything?"

Valjean nodded, eyes still closed.

"How did she react?"

And finally Valjean looked up, sharply. "She moved out." he repeated the facts.

"Oh." Javert felt like an idiot. "Sure."

On the other side of the table Valjean turned to his soup and started to eat, as if munching this meal could somehow help him to swallow his anger about this situation. And Javert only sat there, watching, unable to understand. Where was the problem in this? This was Valjean after all.

"She´ll forgive you." he told him, just in case the other man had forgotten how much the girl loved him. Her foster father, who´d given up almost everything for her. Who would have died for her.

But Valjean didn´t seem to remember this little fact. He put down his spoon as if Javert´s comment was downright ridiculous.

"She´s not only denying to see me." he informed him. "She talks to no one. Not even the boy. She´s isolating herself from the world and I … I don´t know what to do."

"How about talking to her?"

"I tried. She won´t see me."

"Don´t give her a choice." it was so weird to see how this seemed to be such a problem. "She can´t lock her door from you." he said. "You´re her father. Tell her that isolating herself won´t do. It won´t solve her problems. Maybe she thinks it will, but … it won´t."

Valjean looked at him, for a long time. "Maybe you should talk to her." he suggested at last, making Javert recoil.

"You must be out of your damn mind, Valjean."

"I can try to tell her all this but she won´t listen." the other man insisted. "Maybe she´ll listen to you. This is about you after all."

"This has nothing to do with …"

"It has." Valjean´s tone didn´t leave any room for arguments. "It has! She shot you. She feared you, dis … disliked you. Didn´t trust you. Because I made her believe you were evil. I never intended that, it just happened. And now … she feels guilty. I could try to tell her that she doesn´t have to. But she won´t listen. But if you tell her … Please."

Javert stared at him, this pleading gaze. He hated it, struggled with himself, but there was something about Valjean and the way he could plead with all his heart, that made it impossible even for him – or maybe especially for him – to say no.

"You can´t seriously believe that I would make a difference." he tried it anyway.

"Will you do it?" Valjean only asked, as if Javert had already halfway agreed. "Please, Javert. Antoine. I don´t know what else to do."

And in this moment, the former police inspector just knew, that he didn´t need to say it. He already had agreed. And Valjean knew this.

...

Getting out of the fiacre was like stepping into an oncoming storm, even though the sky was light blue and the tiny breeze that met Valjean´s face nothing near a storm. He looked at the house, his house, and he felt cold and hot all in one. Oh God please let this work.

Javert stepped up beside him, looking at the house, just the same, and his gaze was not encouraging. Valjean threw a glance at the guard that waited a few steps away, trying unsuccessfully to pretend he wouldn´t be interested in what they were doing here, or what they might have to say.

"Let me ask you something." Javert spoke. He seemed much more content with the other police man around, Valjean noticed, but shoved it aside. Javert asked: "Did you come along for your daughter´s safety. Or for mine?"

The father in Valjean gasped at the implication. "She´s not a mad woman, Javert." he cried. "She´s just confused."
"Aha." the other man made. "So … when you know so well what is the matter with her, why don´t you talk to her?"

Valjean simply couldn´t believe it. Did Javert seriously try to back out now? Now?

"I told you, I tried."

"Try harder. You really think I could reach her where you couldn´t?"

"I presumed that it was only fair for you to try it, since you are the reason for her state of mind."

"So this is all my fault now."

"I didn´t say that."

"You said I´m the reason for this."

"But not that it is your fault. It´s no one´s fault."

"So it was fate that brought us here, is that it?"

"Maybe."

Javert only shook his head, as if this whole conversation was leading him nowhere, and actually started to turn around, away from him. Valjean grabbed his arm, the injured one, knowing that it would cause pain, and he was right. Javert hissed, trying to avoid more pain by halting, carefully. Good.

"I saved your life at least three times since this has started." Valjean reminded him.

But obviously the little pain he´d caused was not enough to humble Javert. "And I saved your ass just as often." he retorted. "I´d call that being even."

And at this comment, suddenly Valjean felt himself nod, in agreement.

"Maybe that is the reason why we´re here." he mused, surprising not only himself. Javert frowned totally taken by surprise.

"Maybe that´s the reason why you could never catch up with me all the way." Valjean mused. "Why I could never get rid of you for good. We´re just too good. The both of us."

The police guard behind them frowned, irritated by their conversation, but all Valjean could see was the uncertainty in Javert´s eyes. The former inspector, his hunter for many years. And then he finally broke into a smirk, snorting.

"You are ridiculous, you know that."

Valjean could only shrug. "I´m an old man." he apologized. "Allow me to be a little queer."

The guard behind them, visibly stepped back, accepting their exchange as exactly what Valjean had just said. Nothing but queer old man´s talk. Little did he know, the young lad.

Valjean watched as Javert only shook his head, before looking up the house. When he suddenly frowned, Valjean followed his gaze, and spotted an open window. A figure backed off from it just as he looked. Cosette!

"All right." Javert said, as if this sight had convinced him at last. "I´ll do it. But I want something in return."

"Anything."

"I need to go someplace after this is over."

"Wherever you want."

Valjean would have promised anything right now, anything it took, if it only got him his daughter back.

Javert nodded.

"Good." And with that he entered the place.

Valjean followed and upstairs at the door, he took the lead again. It wasn´t necessary that Javert took it all out of his hands. Cosette was still his daughter, this place still his house.

"You wait out here." Javert ordered the sergeant. "This is a private matter."

The young police man stood back, obediently. It didn´t seem to matter that Javert had no authority anymore. His demeanor was still intimidating. And the young officer felt that.

Valjean for his part was grateful for that. He didn´t want a strange man around, when he talked to his daughter. Slowly he opened the door.

"Cosette." he had to steel himself for this confrontation, and to claim he wasn´t nervous would have been a lie. He was freaking close to panic. "Cosette, I know you told me not to come here but …"

His words died in his throat, when he saw her standing in the middle of the room, facing them, as if she had awaited them the whole day. Her posture was straight, almost too much, and her face as sad and empty as he´d seen it last time. Valjean did not know what to say.

Cosette moved her head, just a tiny bit, acknowledging his entrance.

"A familiar sight by now." she mentioned. "You coming through the door, and he´s behind you."

Valjean felt ice cold, as he searched Javert´s gaze, as uncertain as his. When he turned back to Cosette again she lowered her gaze, apologetically.

"I´m sorry. I didn´t mean it like that."

Again Valjean met Javert´s gaze, asking him to please, help me here. And Javert cleared his throat, awkwardly.

"I only came here to help." he spoke, stiffly. "You father asked me to."

"I know." Cosette had her gaze away from them, to the side. "I heard you talking." Her eyes flew to the open window. "I know." she repeated, and something in her tone was bad. Very bad.

"Cosette." Valjean stepped forward. "Please, forgive me, I …"

"It´s not you who needs forgiveness." she talked over him, almost fiercely, skipping back from his approach. "I´m not mad at you." she shook her head. "I just … I don´t understand. I can´t. All of what you told me … everything I believed in … it´s all wrong. The things I believed to be right. They don´t fit anymore. And I don´t know why. And I seem to be the only one who doesn´t understand. And I don´t understand that either. Something is wrong with me and I don´t know what it is."

Her desperate look changed, suddenly, as her eyes found Javert and Valjean almost felt the coldness radiating from that gaze.

"I wanted your death." she spoke. "With all my heart and now … I´m falling." her voice broke. "I see a void before me and I can´t see the bottom of it. I don´t … I tried to pray but God doesn´t give any answers. I don´t know where to turn."

She turned away from them, facing the open window. And something about the gesture scared Valjean to the very core of his heart.

"Cosette, please don´t talk like that."

He wanted to approach her, to take her into his arms and comfort her, do anything that was necessary. But Javert held him back. The hand on his arm was so firm, and the gaze of the former inspector, so worried on Cosette that Valjean didn´t know what to do with it. Except obeying.

Oh God, she was too close to the window, too depressed in her mind, too withdrawn from them even while she was talking to them. If they were not careful …

"Leave the room." Javert suddenly whispered at him, leaning in so only he would hear his words.

Valjean opened his mouth, to object, but Javert stopped him, simply by saying: "Trust me."

And something inside Valjean wanted nothing more than to do just that. To trust Javert, with the life of his daughter, the only reason why he was alive at all. To lay his life and everything he cared about in this world, into the hands of the man that had hunted him for years, to throw him back into prison. What a world.

"Wait outside." Javert told him. "At the front door." And just one more time, he repeated: "Trust me."

And even though he didn´t know why, Valjean did.