AVENIR

Chapter 4: The End of the First Journey, the Start of the Next

A/N: Check out our heroine's journey across France!  She was first rescued by Javert in the south of France, from the city of Marseille.  He took her all the way up to the heart of France, to the countryside which she traversed until she was found again and brought the rest of the way to France.

~Vive La France~

I scrunched my eyes tight, desperately trying to hold on to the memories of my dream. I had a feeling, just the slightest of notions that it was somehow not just a dream...

I was in a dark, narrow street, walking forward, and looking up at the stars. Rather, just one star, brightly shining, almost guiding my way. I paused when I reached an old building, so old that it was tilting up at a wide angle - as if at any moment it might come crumbling down. The Café Musain. There was one lantern flickering just to the left of the door, and I remember staring at the flame, warm and inviting. The café was busy tonight, and I heard from inside the sounds of silverware clanking and joyous laughter ringing. I rushed in the open door, past several round tables, heading toward the back, guided by instinct alone and a little surprised that no one tried to stop me. Just to the right of the bar, I noticed a dark, narrow hallway leading to the back. I started down the hallway, passing by the kitchen as well as several more closed doors until I reached the very back of the building. Hidden from view and tucked away to the right was a rustic staircase – so old the fifth step was missing. I quickly climbed, as if I was running out of time...until I reached an old wooden door with an ancient doorknob. I grasped the doorknob, turned, and was shocked to discover how easily it opened. The room before me was pitch black. I turned, looking to the left, at a table with a candle on it. The wick had all but burnt out. There was one match left, lying on the table. It seemed to be made for me. I quickly struck it, lighting the candle, blew out the match, and then whirled around to view the room.

Instantly I was surrounded by young students, appearing out of the darkness and attracted to the bright light of the candle. I recognized the mousey brown hair of Bahorel, the laughing eyes of Courfeyrac...They all recognized me, too, and began to pat me on the back, laughing and merry. The student Grantaire was the first to greet me, enveloping me in a bone-crunching hug, leading me to greet the other students. One face stuck out among the rest – it was Jehan, but somehow his face seemed different. It was the face of my brother. He reached out and took my hand, and I eagerly grasped his hand with my free hand, the one not holding the candle. As he led me forward, I had a realization.

These were the same ghosts that haunted Marius in his dreams.

Then, my brother – no, Jehan - led me toward the back of the room, gently taking my candle to light the way. By this point, the crowd of students had parted, and I saw only one thing – the desk in front of me, Enjolras himself bent over it, furiously writing. I tapped him excitedly on the shoulder, like a child. He quickly looked up, and his face lit up with recognition. He placed his quill carefully down, pushed back his chair from the desk, and got up. We embraced, and I cupped his chin in my hands. "I love you," I told him, mortified to feel tears welling up in my eyes. He stared back at me as only Enjolras could, silent, and he suddenly appeared worried. He let go, and hurried over to the chair...the one by his desk. He gestured down at the chair to me. Looked down. Looked back up at me. Smiled. Looked down. Up at me. "What?" I try to tell him, again and again. "What is it...?" but then the words are actually coming out into the real world, and then I am out of my imagination, and back into reality.

Yet the words I heard him speak back to me still linger in the air as if they were actually spoken in real life. When he said them, his voice had rung out like the striking of a bell, clear and rich and angelic. I scrunched my eyes tighter, trying to hear what he had said to me, repeating his simple words over and over again, afraid I might somehow forget them.