Inspector Javert yawned. Finally, he thought. The last warrant is finished. Javert shook his head. In his opinion, Paris was going down the drain. Whores working the streets, the poor living in the sewers . . . he sighed. The Inspector took his pocket watch out from his breast pocket. It read 10:30. He shook his weary head and put the watch back. Just then, a knock came at his door. "Come in," he said gruffly.
The door opened. "Inspector? Are you still here? Go home, Monsieur. It is Christmas Eve!" Sargent Lafontaine said. Lafontaine was a bit on the paunchy side, with brown hair, though it was going a bit thin at the top. He was a newcomer to the prefect; he signed on just before October. After the barricades fell and Valjean had died.
"Christmas, hah!" Javert snorted. "And what is Christmas, except for a day when people run through the streets acting like hooligans? No, Sargent, it�s just not my type of holiday."
"Then what is?" the Sargent asked, a smile playing around the corners of his mouth. Silence reigned while the Inspector thought about this.
"Well, Inspector?"
"If I tell you, will you leave me alone?"
Lafontaine paused. "Well . . . okay."
Javert thought quickly. "Um . . . Bastille Day!" Javert said, saying the first holiday that came to his mind. "Now go!"
The Sergeant sighed, turned, and left Javert�s office. Javert put on his heavy wool jacket and prepared to leave. The truth of it was, Javert didn�t really have a favorite holiday. He just wasn�t a festive type of guy. He shook off the thoughts and put on his top hat.
Javert walked the streets of Paris, cold air blasting at him from all sides. For once, no one was on the street. Not a single soul was there . . .
"Oh, let him alone, Gavie," the second spirit said. She was slightly taller and a little older than the first, with a dirty face and rags for clothes as well. "He just needs a little Christmas spirit, that�s all."
"For as long as I�ve known him, he�s never been very festive," the third ghost said. "And I�ve known him for a long time," he chuckled. He was very much older than the first two, in his sixties, with graying hair and wrinkles around his eyes.
"I say we make 'im festive," Gavroche declared in a loud voice.
"Gavie, you can�t make someone festive. You can only help them along a little . . ." Eponine trailed off in thought.
"Help him along . . ." Valjean was also thinking what Eponine was. Suddenly, all three got sparkles in their eyes.
"I�ll go first," Gavroche said, a smile on his small, freckled face. "This oughta be fun."
A small voice singing woke him up.
"Good evening, dear Inspector, lovely evening my dear . . . ya know, you really shouldn�t work that late. It�s bad for you."
"Whoever you are, go away," Javert mumbled into the pillow, eyes still closed.
"Sorry, Inspector, no can do. I�ve been sent from the big guy himself."
Javert slowly opened one eye, then the other. He looked at the figure who had come in to his bedroom, uninvited, and late. "What-?" he stammered, mystified. The figure that stood before him was floating about two feet off the floor.
"Wait- I know you! You�re the little gamin that blew my cover at the Barricades all those months ago! What are you doing here?" Javert leaped out of bed with a shocked look on his face. How can this be possible? I thought everyone at the Barricades died . . . Javert shook his head, staring at the little boy who had floated back in surprise at his outburst. The little boy sighed.
"First off, the name�s Gavroche. Second, I�m here because we don�t think YOU have enough Christmas spirit."
"`We�?! Who�s we�?!? Are you from the prefect?"
"Do I look like I�m from the prefect? I�m here to show you your past Christmases, to see if you were always this unspirited. C�mon!"
And with that, the spirit took Javert�s hand and led him to the past.
"Let�s see- am I at the right place? 38-rue de la maison, yep, right where we should be. Let�s see if we can see anything, Gavroche said."
As if on cue, three little boys came running out onto the street. The first two were pushing the third around. "My daddy says your mommy is a prostitute and you don�t even have a daddy!" The first boy said. He was a small, pudgy, brown-eyed kid.
"That�s not true!" the third little boy said, with a slight lisp. "And besides, I do to have a daddy! He�s just not here right now!"
"Danior�s gots no family! Danior�s gots no family!" Little Javert broke down in tears, but the taunts did not stop from the two other little boys. "Nigel! Jean-Paul! Come inside the house! It�s time for Christmas dinner!" a warm, friendly voice said.
"Yes, mummy!" said Nigel and Jean-Paul in unison. "We�ll come back for you, Danior," Nigel said in a singsong voice.
Danior Javert sat on the empty street crying. "I hate Christmas! I hate my mother! Why did she have to be so bad!" he sobbed.
Javert and Gavroche watched the scene in silence as it faded away. "Oh, well, now, that�s not very good, now is it?" Gavroche said. "Was that really you?"
Javert turned away from the little boy who was on his knees, crying on the empty street. "I had forgotten about that. I never quite forgave my mother for abandoning me," he said with an evil look in his eyes.
As Javert sat thinking for a while, Gavroche noticed the spirit of Eponine hanging around the corner of the scene. "Hey Ep! Wow, I just got a look into old crankypants� past. Boy, he had it rough. Did you know his mum was a whore? And all the other kids used to--"
"Gavie, put a sock in it! What did you find out about his Christmas spirit?"
"I was gettin� to that! Turns out that the taunting got so bad that he just said that he hated Christmas. I guess it�s been that way ever since! And he�s not getting any better. Do you see that evil look in his eye?"
"Well, I guess it�s my turn to show him what other people are doing to celebrate Christmas this year. Maybe that will get him into the spirit," Eponine said hopefully.
"Go ahead and try, Ponine. I tried and failed. But you go ahead."
"Thanks for the support, Gav."
Eponine walked up to Javert and put her hand on his shoulder uneasily. She�d never really been that comfortable around policemen. Just something her father had instilled in her at a young age. "Inspector? It�s time to go, Monsieur."
Javert looked up at her. "Oh, no, not another one," he moaned. To himself, he said, I�ve got to stop working this late. I�m having the oddest dreams. Better just to play along. He sighed. "So where are we going now, Mademoiselle?"
Eponine got a mischievous smile on her face. "You�ll see, Monsieur." She took his hand and went back to the present . . .
"55 Rue Plumet, right where I wanted," Eponine said. "Come on, M�sieur, it�s right this way," Eponine said.
"Isn�t the gate in the way? Don�t we need a key or something?" Javert asked, looking at the huge wrought iron gate that stood before them.
"You�re forgetting who you�re with, M�sieur. I am a ghost. We don�t need keys." And to demonstrate this fact, Eponine walked through the gate and back out again with no problem. "Take my hand Inspector, I�ll lead you through the gate."
Sure enough, when the spirit held Javert�s hand, they went through the gate without any trouble.
"Come to the window with me, M�sieur and I�ll show you something very interesting", Eponine said.
They walked up to the window and peered in. A young couple was around a small table. The man, tallish, with curly brown haired, set the table with decorated china as the young woman cooked a small turkey on a spit over the fire. They were laughing. A Christmas tree, brightly decorated, stood in the background.
"Oh, M�sieur Marius looks so happy," Eponine said to herself with a dreamy smile on her face.
Javert interrupted her thoughts. "Did we come to drool over a rebel, or does this trip have a purpose?" he said impatiently.
"Oh! Whoops!" Eponine blushed. "Actually, we�re here because travelling back to your past seems to have made your practically non-existent Christmas spirit even worse. So, we thought if you saw how happy other people were celebrating Christmas, you might just get into the spirit. So c�mon, watch the festivities!"
They listened to the scene going on inside the kitchen.
"Oh, Marius, I wish papa was here to celebrate our first Christmas together with us," the young woman said.
"I know, Cosette. But it just can�t be that way" Marius said. "He died! We have to move on! I mean, face it. He wasn�t even your real father, Cosette."
"I can�t believe that you�re being so insensitive! He saved me from the Th�nardiers, he gave me a place to stay, and he loved me! Which is more than I can say for you at the current moment! Humph!" Cosette turned away, arms folded.
Javert looked at Eponine with one eyebrow raised. "This is supposed to help me with my Christmas spirit?" he asked skeptically.
"Well, I thought they�d be the perfect couple to show you Christmas, but I guess Monsieur Marius and `dearest Cosette� (the last name was spoken with serious contempt) are having some problems right now." She got a faraway look in her eyes. "I would�ve made him happier." Eponine bit her lip and sighed. She turned back to the window where Marius was trying desperately to make up for what he�d said to Cosette. She was turned away from him, small nose up in the air and arms folded across her chest. She was obviously not listening to him at all. Marius was in a pleading position, arms held out to Cosette�s back. Eponine saw Cosette soften after some serious pleading from Marius, then they hugged. "See, Monsieur L�Inspector? The Christmas spirit can fix any fight!"
"I- I guess," Javert said doubtfully. He saw the couple sit down to the dinner and light two candles on two silver candlesticks.
"Eponine . . ." an old man�s voice said from far away.
Eponine took one last look at the two young people who were once her friends, then (with some difficulty) turned away from the happy scene behind the window. "Yes?" she asked Valjean.
"Have you made any progress with Javert yet?"
"A little," Eponine replied. "I think seeing your daughter and M�sieur Marius being happy at Christmas softened him up a bit. Perhaps if he sees Mme and M. Th�nardier, the most unhappy couple in all of Paris, happy at Christmastime . . ."
"Or maybe," Valjean said thoughtfully, "his own future."
"Pardon, monsieur?"
"I will take him to see his own future, mademoiselle. See if he likes it," Valjean said.
Eponine smiled slowly. "You do that. I�ll get back to heaven and wait for your report."
Valjean walked up to the man he knew so well, the man who had hunted him, the man who had tracked him down through the years. "My daughter looks very happy, doesn�t she, Inspector?"
Javert looked up at him in surprise. "Yes, monsieur, she does." Javert sighed. "So, 24601, where are we going now?"
"The future, Monsieur L�Inspector. Specifically, your future."
Here we go again, thought Javert as Valjean led him away from the happy scene.
"Oh, and by the way, Inspector-"
"Yes?"
"Don�t call me 24601� anymore."
"Hey- my house! Why are people taking things from my house? I�ll have arrested, so help me-" he exclaimed.
"You know, Javert, you can�t do that at this time. For one thing, no one can see you. And for another thing- well, let�s wait a while till I tell you that one."
Javert raised a suspicious eyebrow towards the man who now had a sly smile on his face. "What do you mean, Monsieur?"
Ignoring him, Valjean led Javert closer to his house. They could see two or three old, gossiping women standing outside watching the men ransack Javert�s house.
"Well, I heard he just jumped off that bridge over the Seine," one woman said.
"No, no, that�s not how it happened, he got shot by someone and then the shooter dumped his body in the river," another said.
"Well, however it happened, the old Scrooge is dead, thank God. He was a bit obsessive when it came to his job, you know?" the third asked.
"Oh yes. You know, I was living in Montreuil-Sur-Mer when Monsieur Madeleine was the mayor. Javert chased down that mayor like he was some . . . ex-con! To think, that nice man, a convict.
"Chased 'im right out of town, too. He was the best Mayor we�d 'ad in years!"
Valjean looked at Javert with a raised eyebrow. "So what do you think of that, Inspector?"
Javert had a quiet, thoughtful look in his eyes. "So I die an old, bitter man, huh?"
"Looks that way, doesn�t it?"
The old women kept on talking.
"My husband got a look into Javert's past. Turns out 'is mother was a prostitute."
"Wow, that�s rough. It still doesn�t excuse him from what he did to everyone around 'im. Miserable bastard."
Javert turned away from the scene and took a deep breath. "Is there any way that this can be changed?"
"I don�t know. That part is up to you," Valjean said. "But now, I must go."
He faded into the dark, leaving Javert alone with his thoughts. "Must I die a bitter, old man?" He sighed. "I should�ve jumped off that bridge when I had the chance. But no. I had to be scared of the water." He shouted to the heavens. "I�M SORRY! I WILL TRY TO HAVE BETTER CHRISTMAS SPIRIT! I�M SORRY!!!"
It was about then that he blacked out.
Lafontaine looked puzzled. "Well, Merry Christmas to you to sir, but . . ." He took a deep breath. "Christmas was yesterday. You missed it!"