Chapter Text
As far as Javert knew, his current condition was unique. Yes, he was a skeptic by nature and, even though evidence suggested otherwise, his truth was still unmoving: ghosts didn’t exist.
In fact, the new evidence only added a corollary, which was: He was Paris’ only ghost
It was only logical, he had been twice dammed. By leaving the convict free and then taking his life to avoid the conundrum that that implied.
Or maybe he had been thrice dammed, although Javert didn’t want to look at his third sin too closely but was related to the other two.
Anyways, his status as ghost didn’t change the fact that his condition as an earthly lost soul was unique. Otherwise, so many other ghosts would be roaming Paris. Or, the catacombs which he had taken the likes to explore, would be brewing with them.
These new set circumstances didn’t change what Javert usually did, he observed the people without understanding, frowning at the crimes committed by hungry pickpockets or children dragging their naked feet towards richer citizens.
Javert roamed the Paris’ markets and streets like mist on a rainy day. If, for whatever reason we had mentioned to him why he seemed to be avoiding Rue de l'Homme-Armé or its quartier, we probably wouldn’t have got any answer
All in all, his appearance hadn’t changed much from when he was alive to the untrained eye. His clothes were slightly darker, he had a purple bruise where the rope had bitten into his skin and a little pebble inside his boot that appeared again over the hours after Javert had taken it out. Another minor inconvenience was that he also couldn’t put his hand inside his right pocket, because there was a small slimy fish.
Javert would have been contempt of continuing in this boring status quo, of pondering and gloomy melancholy, but this was due to change.
About a year later, in one of his wanderings past Le Marais, passing like mist between the people on the streets, he arrived near the cemetery of Père-Lachaise
It was not that he had been also avoiding graveyards, but Javert had found impolite to “visit” people who had not met the same fate as him. He was, after all, a condemned soul, an unique exception to the rule of death.
He bordered it, without entering the elegant quarter of the sepulchers. Almost out of curiosity, like an old hound bordering a house, he looked from the other side of the fence. What an odd thing, this was.
Javert completed half the perimeter and stopped near a yew tree. He knew this tree. It was toxic, and he was able to identify it because it was important for survival, not because of a botanist secret hobby. As a young boy, being able to tell what plant was edible or not had saved him more than one
Although the ending had been the same.
Maybe if he had eaten one now he would be in the limbo instead.
Javert shook his head.
What a way to waste time! Some instincts didn't die apparently
He turned the corner and then stopped in his tracks. Javert felt himself his non beating heart stop; because Valjean stood near the old wall.
He was as Javert remembered him, almost ethereal, maybe a bit more tired expression but with a slight mirth in it
Valjean turned and Javert didn't hide, as he hadn't been acknowledged in a year. However, Valjean's eyes didn't look away
"Javert?" He quietly asked
"No, this couldn't be"
Of all the living people in the world, must have been Valjean the one with the gift to see him?
"Why...how are you here?"Valjean continued "Have you come to....
Javert didn't let him finish, as he turned and run away without looking back