"Not again..." he muttered through clenched teeth, but somehow he had lost complete control of his body. He waited in disgust as he once again stood on the rail of the bridge, peering down into the water. At least, he sighed to himself, he wasn't singing this time. He couldn't die, anyway. The invisible hand that had taken control of him made him step over the cold, damp, stone railing. Suddenly, just as he was about to take that fateful leap once again, an invisible reader began to recite a poem.
"Oh, no... now it's time for the second most common form of fanfic. The bad suicide poems?"
Standing on the bridge of destiny
He is dead before he jumps
read aloud the invisible, somewhat nasal, voice. Javert felt like retching.
Why me? he cried silently. Why do I have all the stupid fans? Before he could ask himself a second time, another poorly written poem was read, and another, and another, until he was quite ready to cry "uncle!".
"Be strong, Javert!" he scolded himself sternly. After all, he hadn't gone through that horrible childhood, risen past all the discrimination to become an Inspector, and spent his life tracking down those who mocked the law, just to be beaten by bad poetry. "I can do it! I... can... do... this...!"
At last, the sea of horrible poetry receded, and the invisible hand controlling his body threw him into the river. He met the freezing water with hardly a splash, and was carried along the bank until he was, naturally, fished out by a young woman. The instant he emerged from the water he raced off with hardly a backwards glance at the bewildered rescuer.
Javert wasn't sure where he was going, but found himself, nearly an hour later, upon the hilltop from which he so often watched the stars.
He gazed upwards at the sky, watching the first few stars emerge in the twilight. The long expected screams of a mob shattered the silence, and he had hardly enough time to prepare himself for the onslaught before he was set upon. He fought valiantly with his nightstick, but it was as effective as defending oneself from a rabid bear with nothing but a Q-tip.
"Ow!" he wailed, as they began tugging on his mutton-chops, pulling so hard he felt like his face would split.
"I love you, Javert! Javert! Javert! Javert! Javert..."
* * * * *
"Javert! Javert! Hey! Javert!" shouted a voice close to his ear. Vision still blurry, Javert sat up and swung with his nightstick in the direction of the voice, and felt it connect with a loud SLAP! and a yelp which sounded, strangely, male. Male? Blinking, Javert's vision cleared and he saw, still somewhat blurrily, a shocked Valjean. Groaning, he managed to pull himself to his feet, letting out a tremendous yawn. Then he froze. How was it he was completely unharmed? That mob...
"Javert, what was that for?" whimpered Valjean in a hurt voice. Javert ignored him. Checking himself over, he found he had not a single cut or scratch, not even a bruise. His leg was asleep, but other than that, he was uninjured. Yet how could this be? Had he died a second time? Was that even possible?
"Javert... are you feeling okay? Did you have a bad dream?" Javert stared at him. Dream? Could it be that everything was a mere dream? It hardly seemed possible, but...
"Fine, perfectly fine." he replied, coldly as usual. The pseudo-Valjean hardly seemed to notice his tone. He smiled, and walked to another part of the hill to continue picking flowers. Javert, lost in thought, stalked home, and sat at his computer to type a letter in his coldest, most polite and business like style:
It would be appreciated ever so immensely if the fanfiction would cease. I am a cold, irreproachable, unkind, unloving, 52-year-old police officer, and I would hope you can all understand that I do not fall in love at the drop of a hat. For those of you who cannot, expect a visit from me and my nightstick. I will show you how cold, unkind, and unforgiving I am.
Inspector of the first class
Javert printed the letter, sealed it in an evelope, rooted around in the desk to find a stamp, and dropped it in a mailbox. Belatedly he realized that there were over 6 billion people on earth, but sighed and thought of how many horrible fanfics there were.
"I'll reach one of the authors, this I swear by the stars," he muttered to himself. Turning, he was about to walk away, when a singsong voice spoke behind him.
"Snookums, wanna go pick flowers?"
Javert flinched, and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. Clenching his fists, he slowly turned on his heel to face, with suddenly bloodshot eyes, a smiling Valjean. He made no attempt to speak. Shaking with rage, he bared his teeth and snarled at the now unsmiling Valjean.
"I... am JAVERRRRRRT!! GRAAAR!" gnashing his teeth, Javert lunged at Valjean, who ran away, screaming. Pulling out his nightstick, Javert followed, smiling. Some things never change. He still loved the chase.
[Chapters: 1 2 3] [Main Index]