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A Sinner’s Future Chapter 8: Once again, we thought happiness had been found, but there was one more corner it could hide behind.

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Montparnasse laid awake for the entire night. Thénardier was his next goal and he had an idea how to deal with him. However, Montparnasse also knew that ideas did not make a masterpiece, the details did and no matter how strong his want to get the man the fate he deserved, Montparnasse knew he had to knot a tight net if there was to be no chance of escape; and no possibility for Montparnasse himself to get entangled in it.

First, he kept quiet.

Thénardier did not seek out Montparnasse. It seemed the message that he would not participate in any of his plans had been heard loud and clear; especially now that all three of his children were gone. Montparnasse suspected the man was currently quite busy finding other people he could escape to keep the mediocrity he called an inn running. Nothing could replace the slaves he had called his children in cheap labour, however.

The tailor shop went on as usual. Montparnasse could still pick and chose whose garments he made, demand was everlasting and there were not many who could supply the same way as he. Life was good. Had Montparnasse been any other kind of man, he might have forgotten about Thénardier and the fate he undoubtedly deserved. At night, sewing hems and seams in front of the fireplace, leaning against the sofa Éponine knew so well, Montparnasse wondered if the three of them had already reached Montfermeil. It was not impossibly far, and they had little luggage to slow them down. Hopefully, the money Éponine had saved up would last them for their journey.

A young lady, long since disillusioned about any potential she had in catching Montparnasse’s eye, gave him the signal he needed to act. She would likely never know her gossip had been the start of a man’s demise. Montparnasse would be eternally grateful that she had taken a liking to talking to him, to inform him about everything that was happening around them which he was otherwise incapable of gathering information about. Montparnasse knew how it was done, he had achieved brilliant results in these matters before and in much more tedious circumstances, but this was a lazy way, it was easy, it was nice. Other people did not have to work hard to get to know the right people. It was nice to be one of them for a change.

“Monsieur, what happened to your friend, the handsome fellow you would sometimes bring to the café with you? We have been missing him.”

Montparnasse kept his head down. He had to make sure he did not show any reaction, as if he were scared. Like a coward who was hiding something if she were to be asked about it later. He could never be too sure.

“He was quite charming, I must say. I met him once, here, in the shop. If this young lady, poor girl she was, had not been with him, I would have wanted him all for myself. It was only later that I found out she was his sister, you know. What was his name again?”

“Éponine, Mademoiselle.”

“Oh yes, Éponine. A great name, I must say. It fits him very well. His father owns an inn, doesn’t he? A friend of mine converses there regularly. He told me he hadn’t seen them for several days. A pity, he said. They were one of the few people who were able to brighten up the place. How is Éponine?”

“I imagine he is well, Mademoiselle. I… have not seen him for quite some time either.”

“Hm, what a pity. You must tell me about him when the two of you meet again. This is quite the mystery! All of this is very exciting.”

“I’m sure it is, Mademoiselle.”

People had noticed Éponine’s absence. It was time to give Inspector Javert a visit.

***

To Javert, Montparnasse was a stranger, or hopefully something quite close to it. He had no information about him, no reason of suspicion lest a hint of paternal overprotection over Jehan. All in all, there was no reason he shouldn’t listen to Montparnasse or suspect him of being anything but an innocent bystander. If push came to shove, Montparnasse could easily cut himself free from any trap Thénardier threw at him at the last second. He was young and beautiful, after all, and in all appearance innocent of all crimes without the occasional exception of curiosity.

Javert had dark circles under his eyes and his beard lacked the structural integrity it had the first time Montparnasse had seen him up close.

“You,” he said.

Montparnasse swallowed visibly. His hands knead the brim of his hat, holding it in front of his stomach as if he was preparing himself to beg for some food — not that Montparnasse had done anything like it in a long time. Not since he had left Grimal, at least.

“Good evening, Inspector.”

Javert looked at Montparnasse for a moment, a few seconds to long. He blinked slowly, almost as if he were at risk of falling asleep.

“Jehan’s not home.”

Jehan was not home more often than Montparnasse had expected when they had first slit his chest open. However, Jehan was not the reason he had come all this way, not this time.

“I’m here to see… you, Inspector.”

Javert looked up. Or rather down, if one accounted for his general height — impressive, even if Montparnasse considered himself to be quite tall as well — and the additional steps elevating him a few feet above the ground Montparnasse was standing on.

“Come in.”

The warm light shone a straight path from Montparnasse’s shoetips to the welcoming frame of the door. Javert was holding the door open and looking at him expectantly.

Judgement was falling close behind when Montparnasse stepped over the threshold.

Javert led him to his office. Montparnasse had never stepped inside, only seen glimpses on his occasional official visits to Jehan. It was simply furnished, pragmatic. A desk, a candleholder, pen, and paper, and two chairs, one of either side of the desk.

“Please, sit down.”

Montparnasse obeyed. Javert massaged his forehead, supporting his head on his elbow which was resting on the armrest.

“I must admit, Montparnasse, I’m surprised to hear you’ve wanted to talk to me. How may I help you?”

“Well, Inspector, I…”

It was easy to play normal people like fiddle. They were drawn in like bees to pollen, swallowing any story Montparnasse decided to serve them on a silver plate.

The only question was whether the Inspector Javert was one of these people.

“Within the last months, several young people have mysteriously disappeared.”

“I am aware.”

“I have a friend, Éponine, his father, he owns an inn. Well, I, What I want to say is…”

“Take your time, Montparnasse. What does your friend have to do with the disappearances?”

Montparnasse looked up, straight into Javert’s eyes. There was no room for hesitation.

“It has been several days now, nearly a week since I’ve last seen. His younger sister and younger brother have disappeared as well.”

Javert leaned forward, head resting on his folded hands. His sudden obvious interest did nothing to hide the signs of all the restless nights he had already given this case.

“Are you reporting your friend missing, Montparnasse? Like the others who have disappeared?”

“I do not know about the other people. But I know that… his parents- his father, he did not agree with him. They have not come to you because they were looking for him, have they?”

Javert pulled a sheet of paper out of the top drawer of the desk and wet his penholder with ink.

“When did you say was the last time you saw your friend? Éponine, was it?”

“Yes. 6 days ago, Inspector.”

“Last name?”

“Thénardier.”

“You’ve mentioned he had younger siblings?”

“Yes, two. Azelma, his sister and Gavroche, his brother. He took care of them most of the time.”

“No trace of them either, I presume?”

“No.”

“Tell me, Montparnasse: Where is this inn the Thénardiers are running?”

Montparnasse had to work hard to fight off the smile creeping up on him and to retain the mask of frightful innocence he had so carefully curated for this role.

The wheels of destiny had just begun grinding in earnest, and nothing was going to stop him from making them continue on, until fate struck just.

Thankfully, Javert was a protective man, and a prideful father. Montparnasse had to admit: Fortuna was smiling upon him and placed just the right man to execute his plans right into his waiting hands.

“I can show you the way, if you want?”

“I would very much appreciate that.”

A few minutes later, Montparnasse was leading Javert down the streets toward the inn. It would surely be filled with every fool which had not been yet scarred away from the place by Thénardier’s scams. There were surprisingly more of these people without wits than Montparnasse had expected. The perfect audience for the glorious piece of entertainment Montparnasse was about to present them.

The Inspector’s sword was rattling against his leg with a cold ring.

***

Éponine had always been a wall, keeping things from colliding by his mere presence. Whether it was protecting Azelma from their parents, inventing excuses for Gavroche’s prolonged absences until they did not notice anymore when he was gone. As long as Éponine had lived in this house, Montparnasse had done his best to keep intruders out of the in, let alone bring them to its doorstep.

Éponine did not live there anymore.

“Wait outside, Montparnasse. It is better for you not to get involved any further. Thank you for coming to me.”

Javert’s hand was heavy on Montparnasse’s shoulder, rooting him on the spot. This had not been a request, it was an order, and there was no escape to find a way as to say no.

Montparnasse nodded and watched as Javert secured his hat once more, before pulling the heavy wooden door open like a sheet of pasta. It was a shame he would not get a chance to see whatever happened to Thénardier play out in action. He would not cry over lost entertainment however, this matter was not about him, after all. Montparnasse would get to bask in the result of whatever transpired in this building, and that alone would be more than enough.

It was sheer luck that Thénardier lived the kind of life which would not allow him to dig himself free of anything Javert would happen to find in his home, his workplace. Montparnasse had done nothing but flick a pebble to make the tower fall — even if it was quite a small tower and truly not impressive in any way, one had to admit.

Montparnasse waited. Minutes ticket by, slowly, like syrup through a clogged bottleneck. What was Javert doing in there? With every moment Montparnasse could not distinguish if anything was happening inside, let alone what, something ugly was growing inside him, wrapping itself around his ribs, his organs, heart and lungs, slowly crawling up his throat until he felt as if he had to gag. Montparnasse was not a man who questioned his actions, his success often, if at all. Everything he had achieved in life had been through his own perseverance. Nothing he had set his mind to had failed so far. And yet, a tiny voice, suspiciously slimy and of which he hoped nothing more than to hear it speak to him from behind bars, whispered in his head, with it’s forked tongue and a face Montparnasse was far too familiar with for his liking.

You will never get me. I will do whatever I want for however long I want it. No one will catch me, not even you. Éponine will never be free of me and neither will you.

The bang when the door opened and slammed against the wall was like a hammer stroke to Montparnasse’s bones, shattering the ice and frost which had taken hold of them. Javert’s steps were heavy in his boots. Despite all the signs of sleep-deprivation drawn across his face, a new curiosity, hunger, and a glimmering flame of satisfaction where alight in the inspector’s eyes. They paled to something similar to nothingness next to the gaunt and serious look with which he approached Montparnasse.

“One thing is sure, your friend has not been seen here for the last few days.”

Montparnasse did his best to appear surprise. A touch of fear and anxiety would not be out of place either. But all of it with an overlaying veil of understanding, as if such news were of no surprise; expected even. Montparnasse was no fool and he was not known to be one.

“What now? Does he-“

“I did my best not to raise his suspicions, although he did seem quite nervous in my presence. He did not even mention his son with a single word. I will have to wait for legal approval of searching his home and take him in for interrogation as soon as there is more evidence for the involved in your friend’s disappearance.”

Montparnasse could only imagine the stress Thénardier had experienced when Javert had stepped into the barroom. The inspector was a very imposing figure in his uniform, no one could deny that.

Instead of answering, he starred straight back at Javert. For one moment, he expected him to rest his hand once again on his shoulder, trying to calm him, as he had done before. It seemed to be something a father such as Javert would do to calm down someone in Montparnasse’s alleged situation.

Javert stood still, unmoving.

“You should go home, Montparnasse. There’s nothing you can do to help your friend. Go sleep. I will keep inform you if anything new surfaces.”

He tipped his hat and turned away.

“Wait, what-“

“I’m confident Jehan will be able to tell me where I can find you.” Without turning back, Javert walked away.

Now all Montparnasse could do was wait. He hated waiting.

***

Montparnasse felt like a violin chord strung to tightly, ready to snap at any moment, injuring whichever hands was grasped to tightly around him, whoever had the bad luck of standing too close.

It was unbearable to wait for Javert. With every passing moment, the urge to run to the inn and bash Thénardier’s head in with a rock grew stronger. It wasn’t Montparnasse’s usual style. If he was lucky, no one would connect the unfortunate accident. He could already be over the next seven mountains by the time came to look for him.

Three knocks echoed through the store. They were sharp, like the sudden silence when a clock stops ticking. The time of waiting had come to its end.

It was raining outside. The water was dropping down from Javert’s hat, onto his coat, strengthened with wax. Slowly, the droplets slit down, carving their way through one another to succumb to the irresistible pull of gravity.

The inspector looked as if he was tasked with announcing a sudden death.

“Inspector. Come in.” Without wasting anymore time, Montparnasse stepped aside. Javert took off his hat while stepping through the doorframe.

“I gather you have news.”

“We searched the Thénardier Inn.”

“And?”

“Nothing points to the fact that either of the children fled. Their important possessions like clothes or memorabilia, even a little money, could be found in their room. We have taken the parents into custody for the time being.”

Montparnasse stayed silent. His gaze searched the room, caught on a nail protruding from a ceiling beam. He didn’t know any of this. He had no idea where Éponine, Azelma or Gavroche could be. This was all news to him.

“Can I see them?”, he asked.

“Montparnasse-“

“They were my friends, Inspector. I was responsible for them. You cannot refuse me the right to speak to the last person to see them alive.”

Of course, Javert couldn’t. That person was Montparnasse himself, after all.

“Montparnasse! These were not the only things we found.”

Montparnasse let his head snap back to stare at Javert.

“What else?”

This was it. The net was drawing closer around the two Thénardiers. Even if there was no further evidence to incriminate them of their own children’s disappearance — Montparnasse had not planted any — there was no possibility of escape left. They would get put on trial; they would get convicted. The Thénardiers were sinking, whatever they achieved in their time in town so far would only pull them down quicker.

“Other incriminating evidence. They will not admit to anything, but they will be charged with break-ins, theft, property damage and document forgery.”

“Can I speak to them?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Montparnasse. I should not be telling you all of this in the first place. I am only telling you because you are close to Jehan and I am sorry you’ve lost your friend.”

“If you are sorry I’ve lost my friend, you should let me see them. Let me see Thénardier.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“If I did that- You- Thénardier refuted all accusations I made, but he did throw some your way. I believe you are a good kid, Montparnasse. Jehan likes you. Stay out of this, please.”

Montparnasse stepped back. That bastard. Thénardier had ratted him out. And to Javert no less.

“Montparnasse. You were not involved in anything this man has done, have you? Not willingly?”

“No,” he said. “Never.”

Javert straightened his coat.

“Good.”

He starred down at Montparnasse a few more seconds.

“Don’t do anything criminal. And stay low.”

With a courteous nod, the inspector opened the door and stepped out into the rain. Montparnasse watched him go.

So far, most of his plan had worked. Thénardier was where he belonged, the Madame as well. With every moment that passed, a burning want clawed its way up Montparnasse’s throat.

He needed to see Thénardier; one last time. He needed to see him sit in the rathole he had dug himself, see him suffer the punishment he had earned, the one he deserved for humiliating Montparnasse so many times. For making everyone — Azelma, Gavroche, Éponine — put up with him.

Javert refused to help him. He was of no use anymore. Luckily, Montparnasse did not need help. He had not lied to Thénardier when they had first met. He was the best at his craft. Thénardier had tried to backstab him and Montparnasse had hit first. Now, nothing could keep him from pushing the knife in deeper. So deep it was impossible to pull out again.

***

The moon was hanging in the night sky like a watchful eye. Vigilant, but useless in the end. No one, nothing could stop Montparnasse. However, he would have expected someone to try at least.

The security in the prison cell — one of ten in total, as the police station did not house any long-term residents — took the form of a young lad, sitting at a desk. A large iron ring was clasped between his fingers. Fingers that were attached to an arm which served as an improvised pillow to his head, deeply snuggled within Morpeus’ arms. Slowly, but not especially carefully, Montparnasse pried the man’s — rather boy, he did seem quite young and innocent while sleeping on his shift — fingers away from the cold iron and slipped the keys away from the service desk as quietly as possible. The door to the cells grated loudly. The security guard did not move. Montparnasse slipped past.

Inside the cell block, it was nearly as dark as in a pot of ink. Only the light from the open door and through the two openings in the walls at the end of the corridor was it possible to even see anything. Carefully, slowly balancing his weight from one foot to nthe other, front to back, Montparnasse walked down the row of barred alcoves. Most of them seemed empty.

Thénardier’s hands barely missed grabbing Montparnasse by the collar. The cold of the stonewall could be felt even through his woollen coat. Thénardier must have been freezing to death by these temperatures.

Montparnasse hoped they were not given blankets.

The force Thénardier had thrown himself against the metal bars separating him from the outside world let a dull ring echo through the room. Anyone awake would have been awake by the ruckus. Montparnasse knew he was not in any danger of being discovered.

“Good evening,” Montparnasse greeted. He still pressed himself against the wall. He would not allow Thénardier’s dirty finger to lay hand on his immaculate clothes.

Madame Montparnasse stepped out from the shadow encasing most of the cell and into the dimness which made her barely recognizable. She looked ghostly.

“You’ve got some balls coming here, boy.” Her voice melted into the hoarse scraping of Thénardier who was trying to shake the iron bars.

“Are you not happy to see me?”

If Montparnasse was being honest, he had never dealt much with Madame Thénardier. It had always been her husband who wanted to hire him for some new plan. Now he began to wonder if there hadn’t been a skilful player in the shadows all along.

“How did you know where to find us? You haven’t bothered to check in ever since these brats left us. I thought you’d disappeared with ‘em. Would have been good riddance.”

She spat right in front of his feet. Montparnasse did not budge from the place he had plastered himself against the cold bricks.

“It’s always easy to find you. I simply have to find where the stench of your of is the strongest.”

Montparnasse only had to slightly lean to the left to dodge the pebbles and the hay Thénardier threw in his direction.

“Don’t play all high and mighty with me boy. We know you’ve had something to do with this. First Éponine bails, and now we’re stuck here while your pompous ass waltzes in and out of everything like he goddamn pleases. You will regret sticking your nose so high in the air, boy, just you wait.”

Montparnasse only grinned, as mockingly as he could while still hiding it behind the sheer veil of politeness.

“It was you, wasn’t it?”, Thénardier sayd. Montparnasse stayed silent.

“You little bastard. You think you can win this game? Boy, I’ve been playing it long before you were even born! I’m coming for ya, just you wait!”

Montparnasse only continued to grin and bowed slightly.

“I hope they find Éponine soon.” Without leaving the cell out of his sight, Montparnasse left the police station. The warden was still sleeping. It had been a fieldtrip, and a very enjoyable one at that.

As with most things in Montparnasse’s life, it would not last.

***

Montparnasse was still basking in his glorious victory in battle over Thénardier when he went to the market the next morning. The sun was radiant, merciless in it’s cold light. Whenever he stepped out of the shadow, he had to lift his hand to shield his eyes from the sudden brightness.

A crowd was blocking the path to the bridge. Montparnasse pushed his way to the front to see what was so interesting. On the river bank, the legs still dangling in the water, slowly swaying for- and backwards with the waves, was a body.

Even the most basic of features was barely distinguishable anymore. Montparnasse did not know how long it had been vegetating in the river, but it must have been a few weeks at least. It was bloated, soaked with water, the unmistakably ashy grey pale skin took on when blood stopped flowing through it; by the looks of it, fish and other inhabitants of the water had already begun feeding on it.

Montparnasse was barely able to keep himself from stepping even closer and kneeling to inspect it further. Somebody gripped his arm and shook him thoroughly. Montparnasse was barely able to keep his hat from falling off and tumbling into the frozen mud.

“What are you doing there, standing like an idiot? Get help! Do something! Get him out of the water!” An old woman with two teeth missing was barking at him. Shaking off the instinct to follow her order, Montparnasse ripped his arm out of her grip. This old hag would not order him around. She had just opened her mouth — a bottomless pit of endless darkness — when a loud sob broke them out of their trance. A man fell to his knees, digging his short, clean fingers into the mud. His trousers would forever be ruined, there was no saving them now.

“My Son!”, he cried out, stretching out his hands towards the body, still swaying along in the water, left, right, out, in, as if this was nothing but a light breeze to enjoy on the first warm day of spring. “my son-“, he chocked out. He cradled his hand on his chest, as if he were holding the last object in the world with any meaning. His grasp was empty.

Javert stepped up behind him. His gaze immediately fell onto the corpse. Montparnasse could see how he methodically took everything in. The positioning of the body, the clothes it was dressed in, the state of decay of the flesh, the height of the sun in the sky, the crowd surrounding the spectacle; it still felt like lightning struck his bones when the inspector’s eyes landed on him and starred straight into what could have been his soul in another life.

“Help me get the body ashore.”

For one moment, Montparnasse wanted to resist him, to tell him no. He had not spent all this time running just to be back where he started, dragging meat — no, flesh — through dirty soil on an icy winter day while everyone starred without doing anything. But this was not the right moment to get on the inspector’s bad side. Not with him, not with this many people present. Montparnasse was not at the bottom of the latter anymore. This would not tie him to the bottom any further.

The body gave way under his fingers when Montparnasse gripped the shoulder and hoisted it upwards on Javert’s count of three. He could feel the sagginess, the missing warmth that translated into its very own coldness even through his gloves.

It had been years and Montparnasse had nearly forgotten what it meant to touch a corpse, a body left to rot because no one cared enough about the person to let it be found, not even its murderer. He wished he had never needed to experience this again.

Montparnasse was breathing heavily when they finally reached the beginning of the pavement and Javert gave him the sign to let the body to the ground. The crowd had parted in front of them, as if they were carrying some dangerous disease, but they did not flee. Most of them did not even turn away their eyes, and rather stared at the spectacle that offered itself to their eyes, no matter its violence.

Morbidity and disgust truly seemed to be more agreeable companions than boredom.

Montparnasse could still hear the sobs from the man who had fallen to his knees when he had seen the body on the riverbank. He was dragging himself towards it, pushing people out of his way. Even though his approach formed a straight line, Montparnasse could see the fear in his eyes. The man wanted to do nothing more than run away, back into the safe arms of ignorance and if need must, in the treacherous embrace of denial.

He dug his fingers into the hardened ground a few feet away from them, not once stopping his lamentation. Montparnasse looked at Javert.

“His father.”

Of course, Montparnasse had gathered as much. It had been difficult not to, after listening to the man’s minutes-long and seemingly endless wails about my son.

“Where were you going anyway?”, Javert asked in return.

“To the market. The one at Place Saint-Jean.”

Javert’s brows furrowed and he sighed, looking down at the corpse, at the man crying in the icy mud and back up at Montparnasse.

“Don’t bother. I hope you have some stocks at home, or a few things that don’t waste away easily?”

“Why?”

“The market won’t be open today.”

“How do you know?”

Javert looked at their feet again. The corpse was still lying there in the exact position they had let him fall in.

“Well, we just found the deceased body of the market’s organiser and the current owner does not appear to be in any state to take care of professional matters today.”

Montparnasse looked first at the body and then at the corpse’s father. The trousers were ruined indeed, as were the man’s gloves, his shoes, his coat, likely even his socks. It was a tragedy for these — as Montparnasse could see now that he was taking a closer look — were unbelievably expensive. The market business must have been going well.

A faint memory, buried under more happy and important ones, began to dig its way to the surface. Montparnasse had heard about the market organiser once before. Javert had told him about the market organiser before.

We have another victim; the organiser of the Market at Place Saint-Jean disappeared.

“I thought they had been kidnapped,” Montparnasse murmured. Javert did not look at him.

“Well, not anymore.”

They continued to stare at the corpse. If Montparnasse concentrated hard enough on one point, on one wrinkle on the man’s skin, he could imagine the maggots beginning to crawl out of it after he had laid a few days underground.

“Montparnasse.” Javert was still not looking at him. Montparnasse did not move his head and instead glanced at the inspector out of the corner of his eye. The sobs from the corpse’s father had faded to white noise, barely worth paying attention to.

“Mmh?”

“Stay out of this. Take care of your business. Don’t tell anyone about what you’ve seen here, not even Jehan. Lay low.”

Montparnasse did not say anything.

“You’re a good boy, Montparnasse. Death does unspeakable things to a person, no matter how they get to know it. Don’t let it change you. Can you promise me that?”

Javert’s gaze was grey and unyielding.

“Yes,” Montparnasse said. It was not lie. There was nothing Death could change about him anymore. Nothing it hadn’t already ripped from his body like killer taking their trophy.

The crowd had not grown any sparser. Montparnasse tipped his hat.

“Inspector.”

Javert simply nodded as a goodbye. Montparnasse followed his advice. It was not the right day to visit the market.

***

The news spread fast and the reaction was even faster. Fear suffocated the town like a heavy blanket, old and mouldy. Clients in the shop grew sparser with each day. It was fascinating to observe what impact the reminder of one’s one mortality could cause on people’s behaviour. Frightening, even.

Of course, certain parts of life had to continue as normal, or at least as normal as possible under these circumstances. Montparnasse had to refrain from whistling a melody as he wandered through the empty streets to the store. The Market at the Place Saint-Jean was still closed, understandably so, and the others in town were too far away for Montparnasse to walk there and carry his purchases home, even if were only two bags full of food. Maybe he should give Jehan a visit. Javert had warned Montparnasse about involving himself into the entire affair — not that he had planned on doing so, he had no interest in sniffing around other people’s closet-skeletons — but there had been no rules about visiting a friend. And at this point, even the inspector could not deny that Jehan and Montparnasse had long since passed the point of being mere acquaintances.

Montparnasse did not get this far.

He had still some way to go to the store. It had been supposed to be a breeze, a walk in the park, even. The Thénardiers was locked away in a rotting cell. They were not supposed to make trouble anymore.

4 Police officers blocked Montparnasse’s path.

“Monsieur,” Montparnasse greeted them, tipping his hat; back straight, ready to run at moment’s notice. If the situation turned ugly, there was a knife strapped to his belt, hidden under his coat. Montparnasse had hoped to have left the days for such necessities behind him, but one could never be too careful.

Unfortunately, his caution had been justified. Equally unfortunately, he was not given the chance to use his knife. Without announcing who they were — even if their uniform made it obvious — nor stating their intentions, the group marched into action. The tallest took a step forward, wrapped his hands around Montparnasse’s throat and pressed his thumb into his larynx. Montparnasse had barely time and no energy to free himself from the murderous grip, before he was already forced down onto one knee, gasping for air, gloved hands digging into the soft woollen fabric of the man’s sleeve. A second officer kicked him in the back of the knee. Montparnasse fell even deeper into the chocking grip, now only kneeling on one leg and struggling to find his balance. The third officer, nearly a boy still, going by his babyface, hurried behind Montparnasse, twisted his arms behind his back and quickly caught his wrists in handcuffs. The cold of the ground was soaking through Montparnasse’s trousers, his hat had fallen off and rolled to the side, where it now laid upside down, as if belonged to a beggar in need of money.

“What do you want? Get off me!” Montparnasse tried to shake them off, one of them at least, but they were too strong. The babyface pulled out the knife from its sheath.

“He has a knife!” Triumphantly, he held it into the air. Seconds later, it was picked up by the first assaulter. He seemed to be the leader of their small group. Montparnasse spit in his face. He missed.

“You’ll find out soon enough, bastard. Don’t resist, or I’ll have to hurt you some more.”

With surprising force and without the slightest sign that he was out of breath, he hoisted Montparnasse up, who barely managed to stumble along, taken aback by the sudden movement, vision still dizzy from the sudden and short loss of oxygen supply. Two women looked down from a window on the second floor. Montparnasse tried to shout at them for help, to sign it, to make them move; nothing helped. They stayed still behind their glass. The grip in Montparnasse’s neck, dragging him forward, was cold and strong like a steel claw.

The streets stayed empty for the entirety of Montparnasse’s kidnapping. Or that’s what it would have been called if the people pulling and pushing him through town had not been given the opportunity to hide their actions behind the poor excuse of upholding civil security.

The commissary look just as cold and unyielding during the day as it had the night had last paid it a visit. Suddenly, the gaunt face of Madame Thénardier and her husbands rage were much less entertaining than they had appeared to Montparnasse in the coldness of the moment.

“Inspector! We’ve found him on the way to his house! What should we do with it?”, the leader of the group shouted. Montparnasse winced at the volume right next to his ears. They had barely set foot inside the police station, could he not have waited a few steps more to ask his inquiry?

If Montparnasse was not mistaken, the same boy who had been sleeping at his desk a few nights prior was once again tasked with guarding the way to the cells. Montparnasse did his best not to pay him any attention. Javert stepped outside a door on the right.

“In here, please.” He held the door open while the coward boxed Montparnasse first into the room and then into the chair. The chains of the handcuffs clicked against each other like bells at a funeral as a chain was looped between Montparnasse’s hands, effectively binding him to the table. It did not budge when he knocked his knee against it. There would be no easy but dramatic way to escape this situation.

The door closed loudly and Javert sat down on the other side of the table. He had several sheets of paper in front of him, all covered in scribble, unreadable from Montparnasse’s upside-down position; all papers but one. There was a small pot, half filled with ink, was embedded into the table. A simple dip pen laid in a long crevice next to it.

Javert picked the pen up, dipped the tip inside the ink pot and put metal to paper.

“Your name is Raphaël Montparnasse?”, he asked.

“What am I doing here, Inspector Javert?” Montparnasse asked back.

“Answer the question.” Javert’s eyes were unyielding, dark, unbreakable, so different from the man Montparnasse had somewhat gotten to known around Jehan.

“Yes.”

“Born on 17th of July 1817 in Paris?”

Montparnasse had to think. He had never thought about the date of his birth. It had never been important. Still, he nodded. If he wanted answers, he would have to play along to a certain extent. Even more so since the inspector did not seem inclined to indulge in jest in this moment.

“Do you know why you were brought here?”

“Like I just asked: no. Why?”

“Thénardier talked, and he had some remarkably interesting things to say. I will have to admit, most of which I expected. After all, you were close to the family, it comes to no surprise that he suspects you are related to his and his wife’s arrest.”

A dawning suspicion began to rise in the back of Montparnasse’s mind.

“Like I said, I expected him to shift the blame onto you, or to accuse you as well at least. I know people like him. You will be happy to hear that I paid no attention to his tales. Especially as I know you, Montparnasse.”

This was the horse Montparnasse had bet on. Javert was a smart man, who trusted his own instincts. Nothing Montparnasse had ever done could make the inspector suspect him of wrongdoing, even less so of the criminal nature.

“However, as you most certainly know, we are too small a town to make the Thénardiers face trial to be convicted as they deserve. I sent for them to be escorted to the next bigger community and when my envoy arrived at the police station, they found something of great interest in the records of Thénardier’s statements, something we overlooked because there was no evidence to support his claims. No evidence accessible to us, at least.”

Javert pulled out a sheet of paper from under his files. It had been folded several times and the ink had already begun to eat itself through the fibres. It was a page from a newspaper. Javert turned it around, so Montparnasse could read it. His index finger tapped the small headline on the upper left side of the page.

Police search continues for murderer

The police forces in Paris are still following every lead they can get to find Raphaël Montparnasse, who fled earlier this week when he was to be arrested for the murder of Julien Letrange. In the meantime, several more cases of crimes have been reopened following this new suspect and each day, new mysteries about his life come to light-

Montparnasse did not bother to read on. There was a drawing next to the article. A small illustration shoved a boyish, feminine young face with curly black hair to his chin. It looked nothing like Montparnasse, but it was impossible not to guess who this was supposed to represent. If Montparnasse cut his hair a few centimetres, to the length he had worn it at back in Paris, he could look this again.

Montparnasse glanced at the date on the top of the page. Had it been this long already? Now that he was looked in an interrogation room, with an inspector of whom he knew he would be shown no mercy, no humanity, it seemed like he Louisette, Enjolras and Grantaire, having to run from the city in the middle of the night had happened just last week.

“Do you have nothing to say in your defence?” Javert’s voice was cold as ice and as hard as the cell walls he was undoubtedly imagining Montparnasse in. Montparnasse said nothing. He knew this game. He had observed it from afar and from up close often to know all its tricks, to predict every way this draw would play out. There was nothing complicated to this situation. Montparnasse was arrested with brute force and chained to a table for interrogation. Javert had already made up his mind. Nothing he could say in this situation could alleviate his fate or lighten the load getting stacked onto his back, at worst, it would only dig him deeper into the ground, until he could see over the edge anymore and was swallowed whole.

“I will admit, Montparnasse, that I am disappointed. I thought I could trust you, but your existence simply shows how easy it is to mask the abyss of the human soul, no matter its depth.”

Montparnasse stayed silent. Javert sighed, stood up and knocked on the door. A few moments later, the leader from the arrest-group stepped into the room. He looked serious, professional, a far cry from the ugly disformed grimace he had shown while kicking Montparnasse into the ground with his minions. With a few practiced movements he had unchained Montparnasse from the table and led him out of the room. When they walked to the door, Montparnasse tried to step to the right, out of the doorframes way, but the claw around his arm, pulling him forward, did not budge and it was as if a mountain was standing next to Montparnasse, pushing him back whenever he pressed himself against it, pushing him further into the danger. Pain burst into flames along his hip, shoulder, and the left side of his face when he crushed into the hard wood. The bastard only gripped his arms further and put more force into pulling him forward. Montparnasse could do nothing but to stumble along.

He threw a glance backwards. Javert was a man of manners, of honour. Surely, he would not allow his subordinates to treat their prisoners like this? Unconvicted ones, no less.

“You should pay more attention to your surroundings. It would not be becoming if we shoved you to the judge in any state of physical disarray.”

If it had been possible, Montparnasse would have spat Javert in the face. Instead, he had to avoid breaking his neck when the leader violently turned his head back to the front by grabbing his skull and turning it around. The boy on duty at the desk practically shivered with fear when Montparnasse glanced at him in passing by.

“Raphaël Montparnasse, you will be kept in custody until a date has been set for your trial, whereby you will be escorted from town into the legal custody of the relevant jurisdiction.”

The heavy iron gate of the prison cell slammed close with a heavy ring. The heavy and hoarse laughs of the Thénardiers could be heard from the other side of the cell complex. Montparnasse stood alone in this small room and starred at Javert’s and the other man’s back as they left him alone in his darkness.

The fall had been short and painful. From the biggest heights, Montparnasse was now once more at rock bottom. This time, there was no ladder in sight for escape.

Time passed as if it was mud sliding through an hourglass. Soon enough, the Thénardiers had given up their taunts and Montparnasse had only heard some whispers now and then. He had crouched down on the straw, refusing to lie down for as long as possible. He would find a way to escape, and he would do so with his dignity and his clothes intact.

It had taken a few hours until he could decide that all his clothes were already in a sorry enough state that laying them on beaten dirt would not cause any more damage. The ground was hard and cold, but it still took a smaller toll on his limbs and muscles than sitting in various positions without touching the ground. Montparnasse’s head was heavy and incessantly working on a plan, searching for a way to freedom. He would escape, no matter the cost.

A low creaking, like a ghost howling in the wind, echoed through the block. A door was opened. Montparnasse forced himself to keep his eyes closed, to stay concentrated. An epiphany was waiting for him, he just needed to catch him.

“Montparnasse, get up,” Jehan said. Montparnasse sat up straight, as if hit by lightning.

They were standing on the other side of the prison bars, a large scarf wrapped around their head and hiding their hair. Montparnasse could barely make out a few red strands in the dim light.

“Jehan, what are you doing here?”, he whispered. Hopefully, the Thénardiers were asleep or too far away to make out their conversation.

“I heard the news from my father when he came home. I needed to see it with my own two eyes.”

Montparnasse scrambled to his feet, shaking the exhaustion out of his limbs, and stepping closer to the metal bars, closer to Jehan. They were still as a statue, eyes set on him, unmoving and surprisingly cold. Calculating. Weighing.

“Did you do it? Did you kidnap and kill these people?”

“I-“ Montparnasse did not know what to say. He had never lied to Jehan. When he had first broken into their house, they had indulged him, and never refused any visitation afterwards. This was not the right moment to begin telling false truths.

However, Montparnasse had nothing to do with the kidnappings. His hands were clean of the market organiser’s blood. He didn’t know the man, held no grudge, had no motive. Montparnasse had never killed without reasons, no matter how small, and he would not begin doing so when he had achieved so many things he had always dreamed off: a home, friends, something to look forward to. Montparnasse squared his shoulders and decided to do the smart thing. Under the scrutiny of someone like Jehan, there was nothing to do but tell the truth.

“I did not kidnap anyone, and I had nothing to do with the man they found in the river.”

Jehan frowned. Montparnasse felt naked under their gaze.

“But the things they wrote in the newspapers, in Paris, those are true?”

Their fingers wrapped around one of the metal bars, pressed their body closer, more closely to Montparnasse, as if they did not want to miss a single muscle of him moving. Montparnasse swallowed dry but did not step back. This was something he had to face. This much he owed to Jehan and the time they had spent together, the time they had taken to get to know him.

“I don’t know what they wrote about me in the newspaper.”

“But it’s not impossible that what they did write is true?”

“We first met when I broke into your house. Will you truly pretend you’ve believed me innocent in life for all this time?”

Jehan said nothing. Their fingers were still wrapped around the metal bars. For one short moment, one flash of consciousness, Montparnasse thought how easy it would be to grasp their arm, pull their head against the metal, grab hold of their throat and bargain for his freedom with their life on the line. The thought was gone in a blink of Jehan’s eyes.

“Do not claim to be this naïve, Jehan. Don’t do us this disservice, not to the both of us,” Montparnasse whispered and grabbed the bar next to Jehan’s hand. Not touching, but close.

“Did you enjoy it?”

“I sometimes enjoyed the rewards I could reap from it. Never the act itself.” As Montparnasse spoke, Jehan trailed over his hand. Eternally soft, like silk, they closed around his wrist, gently pulled his arm through until Montparnasse’s shoulder laid flat against the icy metal. Jehan pushed his sleeves up as far as possible, which meant slightly lower than Montparnasse’s elbow, and twisted it slightly so the inner part of his forearm faced the ceiling. Light as a feather, Jehan traced the scars on his skin. They were few, but they would never fade. The air was heavy with what Jehan had yet to say, with the words not yet ready to be spoken, to be asked.

“Never the killing,” Montparnasse whispered. His breath formed a milky white cloud in the air, like a dream passing from imprisonment to freedom

“Would you do it again?”, Jehan asked. Their eyes looked up again, directly into Montparnasse’s. They did not let go of his wrist and arm.

“If necessary. Yes, I would.”

Jehan let go of Montparnasse’s arm and turned around. The door to the outside stayed open when they left. It was a mocking him, an open invitation to escape, place on the other side of a moat he could never cross.

Montparnasse pulled back his arm and the sleeve down. It was freezing. He had not suffered through conditions like these in an eternity. Truly the bottom of the barrel.

The ringing of the chains echoed through the cells. What was Jehan doing out there which was so loud? Could they not leave Montparnasse alone in his misery, instead of parading it around in his ears for as long as they could?

It felt like a dream as Jehan reappeared in the doorway, a heavy ring with numerous keys attached to it in their hand. Montparnasse starred at them in wonder, wanted to ask, but they firmly placed a finger on their lips and made him keep silent. With their brows furrowed, concentrated on making as little sound as possible, Jehan went through several keys, putting them inside the lock and trying to turn them. Montparnasse stood still, frozen in place and unable to do anything but follow the small and regular movement of their fingers as they failed once again to open the lock, picked the next key and tried the entire process once more.

The loud click when they key finally turned rang like a cannonball of liberation. Immediately, Jehan pushed the cell door open and grasped Montparnasse by his wrists, like the handcuffs earlier that day.

“Swear me you will always be honest. If you lie to me, once, I will never forgive you,” they whispered. Their warm breath whisked over Montparnasse’s skin and slowly thawed his cells one by one.

“I swear.”

“Good.” Then they pulled him with them. When they passed the empty desk, Jehan carelessly threw the key bundle on the table. Montparnasse was not given time to think about the different ways Jehan could have made the guard leave their post. Gratitude was all he could silently give.

Together, they snuck around the building. Behind it, where two horses. With practiced movements, Jehan untied them both from the wall and threw the reins of one of them to Montparnasse.

“I hope you can ride,” they said, and swung into the saddle with an ease that turned Montparnasse’s stomach, only in a pleasant way.

“I hope so as well.”

“Yell if you fall and try to hold on until we’re out of the city.”

After a few attempts, Montparnasse’s bottom finally found its way into the saddle. Before he could dig his heels into the animal’s sides, Jehan had already taken off. His own riding companion followed automatically. The air wiping into his face was sharp as knives. Never in Montparnasse’s life had pain been this freeing.

[next chapter]

[buy me a ko-fi]

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