Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Chapter Eighteen: Freedom

.::.

May 2nd; Washington, D.C.

.::.

Contrary to what his mother believed, Adam Zooker did not hang out with Ben 'Parnasse and Max Landon because he liked beating people up and selling drugs. He'd never beat anyone up (except for once in the third grade, but that was third grade.) and he'd only ever smoked weed once. Adam had a newborn son and a wife to care for; he couldn't dawdle in what his friends did.

But they were just that – his friends.

So, when Ben stood up from the bar and grabbed the waiter as he walked away to fill another order, he stood up, too. The waiter struggled and dropped the tray in his hands onto the ground; the glasses shattered, beer splattering up onto the hem of his pants. Ben pushed the waiter out the front door, ignoring the hollering of the patrons and other staff. Max and Adam followed behind.

Ben grabbed the waiter's collar and shoved him up against an alley-wall. "What did you say?"

The waiter's toes barely scraped the street, gripping 'Parnasse's wrist, tipping his head upwards to try to receive more air. "Max – " His eyes flashed toward Max, who stood close by, his arms crossed, eyes slightly concerned.

'Parnasse cocked his head toward the waiter, staring intently at Max. "You know this guy?"

Max dropped his arms and shrugged, extending an open hand to the waiter. "Let him go, Ben." 'Parnasse huffed and dropped the waiter. He bent forward, rubbing his neck. "How do you know my name?"

The waiter straightened and cleared his throat. "I – I know – knew someone you used to."

"Who?"

The waiter continuously rubbed his neck. "My name is Jason."

Max sighed and took several steps forward. "I didn't ask for your name. I asked for the person I 'used' to know."

Jason remained silent. He thought briefly of Éponine and how on one evening she'd told him of her life in West Bath, how she'd told him of her drug addicted boyfriend, and how she'd ended their relationship while he was in the hospital. She'd spoken of not feeling any remorse for the action and how awful she'd felt about not feeling bad. She'd shown him the picture her once-best-friend Adrienne had sent her; she'd pointed out Max and Adam, the man who stood far behind, twiddling his fingers nervously. Based on the reaction Ben had showed him for just knowing Max's name, Jason wasn't about to tell them about Éponine anytime soon. Something wasn't right between the trio – Jason couldn't place it, but he could feel it.

He curled his hands defiantly, wetting his lips.

"Well, who is it?" Max took another step closer. In the dim light of the evening and the light from the streetlamp, Jason could make out a neck tattoo spelling out the word 'FREAK' and ear-piercing. He furrowed his brow; Max didn't look good with either.

"Obviously, he doesn't want to – " Adam finally stepped forward, touching Montparnasse on the shoulder hesitantly. The unofficial-official leader of the trio turned around, annoyed.

"What, Adam? You gonna act like a sissy, again?" 'Parnasse's nostrils flared in anger and Adam swallowed, shaking his head; he took a step back. "That's what I fucking thought." He turned back around, crossing his arms. "Geez Louise."

Adam shuffled on his toes, pulling out his cellphone. "I need to call Claire."

'Parnasse waved a hand. "Whatever." Adam walked away, his footsteps echoing in the alleyway. "Max, he doesn't look like he wants to talk."

Max smirked, staring holes into Jason's eyes. His underarms and forehead began to perspire. Jason wished for a moment that he could have kept his big mouth shut. "I know." Max nodded, cracking his knuckles.

"I guess we could make him talk?" 'Parnasse suggested, shrugging.

"Sounds like a grand idea."

'Parnasse shoved Max out-of-the-way and grabbed Jason's collar again, pushing his up against the wall. The back of his shirt rode up, his flesh digging into the brick wall. Jason's face screwed up tightly and his hand latched onto 'Parnasse's wrist once more.

"Look, it's a little fuckin' creepy that you know Max's name, okay? I think you can understand that." Jason nodded, his feet dangling high off the ground. "Now, we're not looking for any trouble. We're just three honest, hard working guys, looking for a poor, lost soul."

"Yeah, I – "

'Parnasse's grip tightened and he stepped forward, his eyes level with Jason's. "I didn't say speak," his voice growled, though to Jason, it boomed. "We've been on the road for about a week now – Adam's wife just had their baby and he ain't even seen it yet. We're tired and fed up."

"Ben, cut to the damn chase," Max urged, checking over his shoulder.

'Parnasse held up his opposite hand to silence Max, his eyes hardening. "I'm gonna ask you one more time, because I'm a pretty nice guy: who is it Max used to know?"

Jason squeezed his eyes shut. God, he was dumb.

"Okie-dokie then. Max, you can have the honors." 'Parnasse dropped his collar and Jason fell to his knees on the asphalt, coughing.

The first blow to his stomach came from the business end of a boot. He felt something inside revolt and he gagged, his knees wobbling as he attempted to stand. A fisted hand slammed onto the base of his neck and he went sprawling out onto the ground, resembling an eagle when he landed. Someone stepped on his wrist, pulling him over onto his back with the opposite arm. He heard a faint pop and white dots swam before his eyes. After that, it was hits and blows to whatever exposed skin they could find.

Jason didn't remember much; he just remembered how much it hurt when he woke up in the hospital at least a day later. His face looked like it had been sent through a meat grinder: purple, bruised, swollen. His shoulder had been dislocated and three ribs broken. Other than that, though, he was fine; weak, but fine.

His assailants had been kind enough to call the ambulance for him, but they left – calm and collected – before it came. At least he hadn't talked.

At least, he didn't think he had talked.

Really it was all a blur.

He'd been informed of Éponine's relocation to California right before it happened. Bailey – her ex-supervisor – had warned Jason that it was likely she would drop out of the Program altogether. Her new protector, Tanner, had been called in twice by two previous witnesses on accounts of physical and emotional abuse. He'd been reviewed, but found innocent. Bailey had his suspicions, though. So he'd alerted Jason of the change, telling him it was just in case she came his way or he needed extra help.

That was the last he'd heard, though.

If he'd told Max and 'Parnasse where she was, she was in deep, deep trouble. And so was he.

.::.

May 4th; Denver, Colorado.

.::.

Éponine looked up from her laptop when the front door opened. Enjolras walked in, shrugging off his suit jacket. "How'd it go?" she asked, leaning back against the couch.

He threw his suit jacket on the back of one of the bar-stools and shrugged, leaning against the counter. "I got the job."

Éponine stood up, rushing into his arms; Enjolras folded her against his chest. "That's great, Jack!" She pulled back, tapping his chest lightly. "I knew you could do it."

Enjolras chuckled, moving out of her grasp. He grabbed himself a beer from the fridge and popped the cap off. "The interview was easy. I was pretty confident."

"Good! When do you start?" Éponine returned to her spot on the floor, crossing her legs beneath her.

Enjolras had just finished his interview for one of Denver's most prestigious law firms. He'd noticed an open lawyer position specifically centered on child cases and immediately called the law firm, earning an interview two days later. He'd quit his job at the record store, riding on his law degree and letters of recommendation from June and a former professor.

"Tomorrow – nine to five. Starting at seventy thousand a year." He plopped down on the couch, throwing an arm over the back; he took a long swig of his beer.

Éponine rested her chin in the palm of her hand. "That's not too shabby," she said, an air of amusement about her voice.

"No, not at all." He winked, licking his lips. "Gav's at school?"

Éponine nodded. "Yeah, for the first time in a long time. It seems useless, since school'll be done in a month, but he's already so far behind and I can't home-school him." She shook her head, turning back to the laptop. "He rarely went to school after Christmas. Everything happened so fast and..." She trailed off, narrowing her eyes.

Enjolras nodded, crossing an ankle over his knee; he cleared his throat. "And what are you doing there?" He pointed toward the computer screen.

She colored slightly. "Looking for a job, as well. I'm bored," she admitted.

Enjolras patted the place beside him and Éponine curled up by his side, pulling the laptop onto her lap. "Teaching, I assume?" He rubbed his hand over her shoulder, fingering the edge of her t-shirt.

"No, actually. There's an opening for receptionist at the Denver Modern Art Museum."

Enjolras raised his eyebrows. "Why not teaching? Isn't it – "

Éponine shook her head, looking back at the screen. "Too painful."

Enjolras kissed her temple. "I understand," he whispered. "I think you'll make a good receptionist, if you ask me."

Éponine rolled her eyes. "It's not my dream job, but I could get promoted to Facilitator because of my art degree, you know, and that pays a heck of a lot more than receptionist." She moved to close the laptop lid after pressing 'send' on the Job Application page, but Enjolras stopped her.

"What's this?" he asked, taking the laptop from her hands; he glanced at her with an amused smirk. "House hunting, I see."

Éponine grabbed the laptop, slamming it shut, her cheeks a dark red. "Sorry," she apologized, pushing the loose hair behind her ear.

"What's there to apologize for?"

"We just kind of stopped looking for another apartment. I thought I'd start looking again." She stood up, brushing her hands on her shorts.

Enjolras stood up, stopping her before she could make a beeline for the bathroom. He grabbed her upper arms, peering down at her eye-line. "Don't apologize, Éponine, okay? This apartment is the size of a shoebox and you share one bathroom with two boys and two cats. I understand." He chuckled and kissed her softly.

Éponine rolled her eyes, pulling back to stare him in the face. "I actually like how cozy this place is, I don't mind the bathroom, and I adore the cats. We don't have the money right now." She kissed his chin and pulled away. "Besides, the small bathroom is pretty useful if you ask me."

Enjolras chuckled, catching her hand before she completely pulled away. "Is that so?"

She nodded, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "It had dual use, you know? It can clean two people at once."

Enjolras' chest clenched for a moment, but then he caught her by the waist and flung her over his shoulder. "We'd better make use of that feature then!"

.::.

May 10th; S.S. Penitentiary, Florida.

.::.

He'd escaped from prison before – twice, actually.

Arnold Thenardier – a.k.a. Tank – had been running the well-known, highly successful gang The Tear Clan since his early twenties. They dabbled in pretty much everything: petty thefts, drugs, fraud, prostitution, even murder. In total, the gang spanned over the entire east coast, and even from prison, Thenadier kept a tight hold. Several of the young, up-and-coming leaders of The Tear Clan had broken off several years before, creating the Patron-Minette under Thenardier's guidance.

So breaking out of prison wasn't exactly the unknown for him. He'd done it dozens of times in county jails and lower security prisons.

Sunshine State Penitentiary, one of the hardest and oldest prisons in the state, lacked one thing: razor wire. It was ridiculous, really; it was almost too easy to get out. He left during his shower hour. Instead of heading right down the corridor that lead to the showers, he turned left, heading down a long dark hall rarely used by anyone. For three weeks he'd been corresponding with his right hand man, Jackson Clark, and Ben Montparnasse, and he knew, the moment he pushed open the door at the end of the hall, he had exactly three minutes to run across the yard and scale the fence. If he made it, he'd be free. If he didn't, he'd be sent to The Hole.

Flexing his fingers, Thenardier reached the door and rolled his neck. He pushed open and door and for a split second blinked to adjust to the darkness outside. But then he composed himself. For a relatively older man, he could run faster than any high-school student. He sprinted across the yard, well-aware that his time was running out.

Soon, he was able to make out the fence. In one of the watchtowers, he heard an aggravated shout. Fingers shaking, he grabbed the metal fence and climbed it quickly, his fingers nearly slipping. A hundred yards away, hidden in the dark of a grove of trees, he heard Clark urge him on. Thenardier jumped over the fence just as the search light turned on. He stumbled, falling to one knee for a moment. Staggering up, he rushed toward the already-moving pick-up truck.

It spun around, the passenger door flung open. Thenardier jumped in, falling against Clark at the wheel with a forceful smack. He pulled himself up and slapped at the dashboard, yelling, "Hurry! Hurry, you shit!"

Clark sped away through the grove of trees. He breathed heavily, covered in sweat. Once sure that they were miles away from the penitentiary, he began to relax. From the back of the car, Ben touched his shoulder.

"We found her, Tank."

Thenardier rolled down the window slowly, sticking his arm out. "You what?"

"We found them – Éponine and Gavroche."

He raised his eyebrows, rearranging himself. "Good. Where are they?"

"California. We found her protector from the – "

Thenardier held up a hand, silencing him. "I didn't ask for a full explanation, Ben. But you did good work. We'll head for California first thing tomorrow."

Aw dang. Well, that's the end of 'Voyage.' Thank you so much for all the lovely reviews; you all are so amazing! The next and final book, entitled 'Legacy,' will be posted next Wednesday. Look for it then. Also, since today was the last day of school (finally), make sure you check my page for information about new stories and such.

Thanks again.

Jess