The car ride with Gaelstrom was downright unbearable. Between him occasionally inspecting the crystallized mucus he dug out of his nose, and sitting around with nothing happening, Polnareff hoped he'd pull over so he could take in new sights for a while. Not being able to avert his focus out the window fell nothing short of torture. He missed seeing the trees go by, the breeze in his face, shouting out the word horses when he'd see them. At least he had his thoughts to keep him distracted.

Memories of riding in a car with the Joestar group created a warmth that expanded throughout his body; reliving an adventure like that would certainly be ful-filling again. Though Polnareff had long accepted that his life was over, he wondered what it would be like to venture off again with a goal all his own.

Maybe when Gaelstrom isn't busy with research, he could inquire about driving him to Ville d' Archambeau, his hometown in France. It would be nice to see how much had changed since he last left. Was Jacques Renaud still a self-righteous bully? What a stupid question, of course he was. Maybe Sherry's delphiniums would grow back again this year? Hopefully, since no one had been tending to the garden in his absence.

What really amused him was the possibility of the locals acting as if the Polnareff house was haunted. That scenario played out in his head and he imagined Coco Jumbo roaming the halls and him making ghostly noises if anyone dared step foot in the foyer. Polnareff laughed to himself, but his amusement was sullied. Abrupt profanity roared from Gaelstrom's mouth as he layed on the horn, bringing his daydream to an end.

"Use your turn signal, you fackin' eejit!" Gaelstrom complained. The other car honked back at him. "Pog mo thoin! Rotten bastard."

Going to Slovakia was clearly nothing like riding with the Joestars through the sands of Egypt. Those times were treacherous but at least they were thrilling. Riding shotgun next to someone whose only personality traits ranged between angry and booger-inspector, less so. Nevermind that Polnareff was already dead and didn't need to worry for his life when it came to Gaelstrom's road rage, however the same couldn't be said for Coco Jumbo.

Polnareff stared out the windshield at the dark sky. He thought about the archeological site and what it was like there. Where the sword was found in particular. How did something so beautiful end up there? Judging by the design, and the craftsmanship, there weren't any swords like it that he was aware of. Maybe it was an ornamental weapon of a long forgotten tribe? Maybe there was significance to the place it was found? An ancient burial perhaps. Now there was something he could get Gael to look into for him.

Polnareff would have slipped back into Mr. President, were it not for his concern of Gaelstrom nodding off. Jerking the wheel slightly, Gaelstrom's head bobbed back up and his voice muttered an incoherent mess.

"You know," Polnareff told him, "you can pull over if you need to."

Gaelstrom mumbled to himself as he drove up to a rest stop. They'd barely entered Austria and there was no telling how many hours it would take them to get to Bratislava at the rate they were going. Leaning in his seat, he reached into the glove compartment and grabbed a large stack of napkins.

Polnareff grimaced. "Just how much do you need?"

Gaelstrom ignored him, looking over at Coco Jumbo. "Does he need to use the jacks?"

Polnareff laughed. "Why, you plan to take a turtle into the bathroom?" His smile waned as Gaelstrom stared directly at him. "Gaelstrom...?"

Judging by that look he was giving him, it was evident that even after all the years they'd gone not speaking to one another, he still couldn't resist giving him a hard time about public restrooms. Damn him. Polnareff shot a look at him.

"Don't you dare !"

Gaelstrom grinned as he lifted Coco Jumbo from the passenger seat. Polnareff's desperate cries for reconsideration filled his ear as he climbed out of the vehicle and stepped closer to the restroom.

"Gaelstrom!" he cried. "Stop this! I'm not begging you, I'm demanding !"

"Awww, come on now, you gotta get over it sometime."

"I told you. I can't. It's more complicated than that."

"You're a fackin' ghost. What do you got against germs?"

Polnareff thought he'd retch as the door opened. Gaelstrom pat Coco Jumbo's shell to reassure him. "Look at it this way, Jacques Renaud's not here to make ya lick his shite off the toilet seat."

Repulsion swirled around in Polnareff's astral body as Gaelstrom walked into the bathroom. Trash littered the ground. Blue paint had been sprayed on the walls in someone's vain attempt to leave their name for a person that would never care to acknowledge it. One of the toilets to the right desperately needed unclogging. He was thankful he didn't have a stomach anymore, yet somehow the disgust that place had evoked made him believe vomiting was still possible. Gaelstrom couldn't help but laugh as he walked past the sinks and dirty, cracked mirror.

"Even in death the toilets haunt your dreams, eh?" Gaelstrom laughed. "Tell me. Is Renaud in them, calling your name from the swirly abyss?"

Polnareff glowered. "I hate you so much right now."

Gaelstrom's laughter echoed off the bathroom walls as he stepped towards the very last stall. "Aw, lighten up." He opened the door at the end and his smile quickly fell away. All he could do was freeze, clutching Coco Jumbo's shell tightly against him.

"Holy...!"

The large stack of napkins dropped from his hand. Dread churned in Polnareff's stomach as he looked into the stall. Sitting on the toilet seat was a decayed, shriveled up corpse. Cracks had formed on its tawny skin, if it could be called that anymore. How long had it been there? Polnareff felt Gaelstrom bump his hip into the sink behind him as he slammed the bathroom door shut, not realizing that the lock was out. It bumped the metal piece and creaked back open. The cracks spread across the deceased's face and body, pieces chipping away and into the commode. They'd never know his name or his story. His only identity he had left disintegrated before their very eyes as if he never existed to begin with.

A rasp rose into Gaelstrom's frightened voice. "Not here, fack me runnin'...!"

Gaelstrom booked it to the exit, shoving the door open as he darted for the car. Polnareff couldn't hardly get a word in with all the cursing he was doing. Coco Jumbo was placed into the passenger seat and Gaelstrom slammed his car door.

"No tellin' where that bastard's gone." he said as he cranked the ignition. He backed out not caring how much pressure he put on the accelerator. "The hell with this, I'll take a dump off the side o' the road."

"You know the user that did that?" asked Polnareff.

"Do I know him...bastard's one of the most elusive serial killers in Eastern Europe. Ever heard of the Nightwalker of Warsaw?"

Polnareff thought for a moment. "Now that you mention it...there were rumors about him in Italy, though I don't know too much about him."

Gaelstrom sped off, his speedometer climbing above 90. Polnareff thought that he should slow down, but knowing Gaelstrom it was no use trying to convince him. Besides, there was no use in changing the subject. With information just on the cusp of leaking into his mind, information that could be attained and useful at a later time, he dared not say a word.

"He's the most vile human-being on planet Earth," Gaelstrom told him, "he corners his victims and uses his stand to drink the vital essences out of them like a vampire. All it takes is just one touch - one - and you'd wish your death was quick, because he drains your life at snail's pace."

The roar of the motor descended, filling the interior with its sleep inducing hum. "People that have reported him, have never seen his face, only that he flees the scene before the police have a chance to catch him."

Polnareff looked up at the windshield. "And the corpses are reduced to nothing, so any evidence pointing to him…!"

"Yeah, you're dead on," Gaelstrom said, "he leaves the body just an empty shell."

"I hope you don't mind me asking you this," said Polnareff, "but have you run into this person before? You make it sound as if you've witnessed the work of his stand up close."

Gaelstrom kept his eyes to the road. "Once...that's all I'll say on the matter."

The conversation ended there. An ominous energy loomed over Polnareff the more he wondered about the killer. Judging by Gael's story, the man had obviously never been questioned for the murders he committed. How could he be? The remains blew away in the wind, no thorough investigation could gather any evidence that way. A stand that absorbs life with a single touch, leaving no trace of the user...it could be anyone.

Like Gael said, it only took physical contact to expose him for his crimes, and he would have to take the risk. It would benefit the potential stolen lives from ever falling prey to him, but at what cost? Gaelstrom's own life? Being stranded in another country without having a way to contact Passione or the Speedwagon Foundation for help? Something told Polnareff the killer wasn't far. He could be anywhere, possibly closer than they thought. Though, part of him hoped not. Gaelstrom's nodding behind the wheel broke Polnareff from his deep thoughts.

"Gaelstrom!" he shouted.

Gaelstrom's head snapped up and he smashed his foot on the break. Coco Jumbo slid into the floorboard as the tires screeched to a halt. There came a thunk noise around the steering wheel and what followed it was the wailing of a grown man with his hands cupped around his nose and mouth.

"Are you hurt?"

"Think I broke my fackin' nose." He tilted his head back, groaning. "Just grand."

They sat in silence for a few minutes before Gaelstrom shifted the gears and started driving again, this time barely breaking forty-five. Polnareff could feel his emotions conflicting with one another, thinking that after what Gaelstrom had done to his family he deserved this much. He imagined the steering wheel playing the role of his fist, delivering justice on a silver platter. Though it brought satisfaction, the other part of him made him feel guilty for thinking that in the first place. Whatever part of him that was. He shook those thoughts away and looked out of the back glass. Something caught his eye and for a moment he knew he had to get a better look out the window.

"Do you mind lifting up my shelled friend?"

"For what?

"I want to see where we are."

Gaelstrom slowed the car from forty-five to thirty or so. "Yeah, hold on." He reached down into the floor, cursing at the blood dripping from his nose. Polnareff's eyes lit up as Gaelstrom placed the tortoise on the dash. The silhouette of the Hohe Tauern mountains glowed under a full moon; clouds drifted in as stars filled every inch of the indigo sky. In the horizon there were even more mountains, and below the ones closest to him, a valley. Faint porch lights shined through the tenebrous silhouettes of trees in the distance, evoking a sleepy state of mind. Sleep. If only he could recall what that felt like. "Gaelstrom, you should see this!"

Gaelstrom chuckled. "If I couldn't, I wouldn't be driving."

"Oh, yeah, right."

Gaelstrom remained quiet for a minute, but for some reason his quiet laughter came out of nowhere, getting Polnareff's attention. "Ya know," he then spoke, "I still remember lying on the roof with you and Sherry watching the stars."

Polnareff looked at him. "Yeah?" He let out a sigh, feeling he could set his grudges aside for the time being. Besides, there was nothing else to do. "That was ages ago." he said, smiling at that recollection.

"She said a group of stars looked like a pig." Gaelstrom added.

Polnareff couldn't help but laugh at the mention of that memory. "Oui, and it took me forever to find what she was looking at. What was it we named them?"

"Hmm. Seems like you tried to name it somethin' stupid."

"Oh, please. As if yours was any better."

"Hey, Orion's Bacon sounds amazing compared to Silver Porkchop."

"Believe what you want, I liked it."

Gaelstrom smiled. "I liked you ."

Polnareff faced the windshield, side-eyeing Gael as he spoke to him. "That is…I, umm...damn, what am I trying to say..."

"You what?"

Gaelstrom rubbed the nape of his neck. "What I'm trying to say is...I'm glad we're friends."

Polnareff's expression soured. "What makes you think we're friends?"

"What?"

"How bold of you to assume I'm tagging along because I want to have anymore to do with you."

Gaelstrom watched the road, apparent dejection filling his eyes.

"I only came because of two reasons," Polnareff continued, "to help your father and make myself useful. That's all. So don't get any ideas. I still haven't forgiven you."

Gaelstrom's lip quivered. He bit it and clutched the steering wheel. "So, that's how it is? That's really how you feel after all this fackin' time?!"

Polnareff crossed his arms. "I'm sorry, am I supposed to welcome a backstabber with open arms? Forgive me, Gaelstrom, I've been such an asshole. Here, why don't you take this knife and stab me in the back again?! No! I insist! Not like you can do that to my sister again, so go ahead. While you're at it, take my family home. You won't have to worry about Chariot this time, so why not!"

The car screeched to a halt. Gaelstrom looked at Polnareff with his jaw clenched. The gloom in his eyes had passed anger and became something else. The two men stared at one another, one realizing he'd went too far and the other at a loss for words.

"You're an idiot if you think I ever wanted to take something from you."

"Oh, please."

"What reason do I have to fuck you over?! I practically grew up with you, you moron! You think I gave a damn about your wealth?! I came every summer because I cared about you !"

"Then why ?" Polnareff pleaded. " Why do you insist on blaming my aunt for everything?"

Gaelstrom rolled his eyes and returned to driving. "We're done talking about this."

"Just explain-"

"I said we're done. Look, you wanna believe the ol' hag? Be my guest. But know this...I never once lied to you like she has."

Polnareff's eyes burned with indignation. " Nobody in my family is like that, how dare you! My aunt was an angelic woman!"

Gaelstrom chuckled. "Yeah, and she used piss for holy water." Polnareff huffed and began his descent into Mr. President. "Where you driftin' off to? I thought you wanted to look out the window."

Polnareff poked his head up and retorted. "I'm tired. You can expect hearing nothing from me the remainder of the way." The hum of the vehicle took the place of squabbling as Gaelstrom drove on. Listening from his room, Polnareff could hear his every word.

"Ghosts get tired? Guess I'll see for myself in a few months."

Polnareff looked up, bewildered by his statement. What exactly did he mean? He drifted down into a chair and looked at the floor, thoughts racing through his mind. What a strange thing for him to say. A few months in the sense that a stand user could take his life in that given amount of time? Possibly. It's not like there was anything truly wrong with him. He acted fine. Polnareff thought about Gaelstrom's disdain for his aunt, his inner rage boiling hot in what would be his stomach. He could seethe about it all night, but chose to set the argument aside, the hell with that noise. Something else that didn't make sense was Gaelstrom admitting he was grateful for their friendship. That's rich coming from the likes of him.

Polnareff would admit he felt the same way were it not for the bad blood between them. No, he wasn't about to give attention to those thoughts. Instead, he thought back to the pig constellation and Sherry lying next to him on their roof, giving names to stars and poking fun at each other.

"Silver Porkchop," he said to himself with a smile, "she loved that. I'm surprised Gaelstrom remembered. I'd almost forgotten." He frowned, looking through his spectral hands. "How could I…"

🔸️ 🔸️

Gaelstrom nodded off behind the wheel, this time self-aware and catching himself before he had another accident. One that he likely wouldn't recover from. He yawned and rubbed his eye. Polnareff's words left a strain on his heart, slowly tearing him down the more he thought back and heard them all over again in his mind, like a recorded message on repeat.

What makes you think we're friends?

He'd heard that before from a boy he used to know back in his hometown. A boy he used to trust. To his overwhelming surprise, realized he shouldn't have. Polnareff couldn't have meant what he said. Surely he didn't. He wouldn't ever stoop so low to become anything like that other boy. Maybe he'd tell him about it one day. Until then, all he could manage was try his hardest not to take his words to heart. Why couldn't he see how blind he was being? He was smarter than that.

Sleep weighed on his eyelids. There was only one thing to do, no matter how badly he wanted to press on and not waste any time, and that was pull over. Just like Polnareff suggested. The nearest exit took him down into a valley that seemed to go on forever. Tal Hoffnung, one of the signs read. He'd never heard of that place before, and after that night, probably never would again. Gaelstrom hoped that driving through there, he'd come across a small motel or something. So far, there were hardly any houses around, maybe one or two at most but then, nothing else. How quaint.

Then again, less people meant more tranquility for him. Hell yeah to that. The road led him through a woodland with a large house that he couldn't seem to take his eyes off of. Out of all the other homes in the area, it had to be the biggest. Perhaps not the fanciest, as it needed some tender love and care on the outside. They passed it by and through the forest. Was that it? What a disappointment. Gaelstrom scanned the road, thinking maybe there'd be a road-sign. Something. To his ever reoccurring discontent, nothing. Tal Hoffnung was just a small population of farmers and old people.

Gaelstrom parked on the side of the road and switched off the car, telling himself that he could just rest there and leave in a couple hours. Going door to door to query about sleeping in a stranger's home? Not a chance. The forest was quiet save for the sound of peeping frogs. Amidst the sounds of the night around him, he recalled that he still needed to reset his nose. Damn it to hell. Dread about that crept over him and he sighed, leaning his head against the seat. He glanced over at Coco Jumbo, still curious about what Polnareff said about being tired.

"Do ghosts really sleep?" he wondered aloud. He then wondered what the inside of Coco Jumbo's stand was like. Was it comfortable? Was it a dungeon? Then again, with Polnareff in there, it was likely Hell incarnate and he was the devil. On second thought, he'd take his chances and fall asleep in the driver's seat.

The thought of Polnareff holding the same likeness as the devil made him laugh to himself as he reclined his seat back and listened to the night forest, allowing sleep to carry him anywhere. Within mere minutes, he drifted and was gone.

🔸️ 🔸️

1974. The summer that changed his life. Gaelstrom Callaghan always rode his bike around the docks in Galway, waving to the fishermen as he went by. Smelling the salty sea air in his face as he pedaled through town. It was always well and good until the other boys ganged up on him.

Freak, they'd call him as they pushed his bike over and pelted him with stones. He'd manage to fend them off a time or two, before one of them gave him a big shiner. Gaelstrom ran home, crying because he couldn't bring himself to let his mum know. Nobody wanted to be friends with him. What with rumors of him having a crush on his unsuspected bully being spread like wildfire.

How could he trust that boy, he thought. He thought he cared for him as a friend...maybe even liked him back. Just a little. Having a small crush on boys as well as girls was normal, wasn't it?

Apparently not.

That was the summer nine-year-old Gaelstrom came to the conclusion that the world didn't accept him, so he cried himself to sleep.

Hours after submitting to a much needed rest, Gaelstrom's mother came into his room and spread a warm blanket over him. Her gentle touch was all he needed to reassure him that he was loved. His eyes came open as she gasped, leaning over his bed. He knew why.

"Oh, god!" she cried. "Gaelstrom, what happened to you?! Your eye's black as midnight!"

"I fell off my bike," he lied, "really, I did."

His mother looked sternly at him. "Boyo, don't you be lying to me. It's those boys again, isn't it?"

Gaelstrom shied under the cover. "Yes."

"Talk to me. What's this all about?"

Gaelstrom sniffled. "He tricked me. I thought he was my friend, but he lied...the other kids, they took bets and...please don't make me talk about it." He began sobbing and his mother brought him close to her, running her fingers through his wild, red locks.

"There now," she spoke softly, sitting down beside him, "you told me all I needed to know."

The hum of her voice soothed his aching heart as he leaned his ear against her chest. Gaelstrom wept as she sang Dúlamán, one of his favorite traditional folk songs.

As she continued to sing, Gaelstrom could feel his sleep return. He had no recollection of her finishing the song and when he awoke again, he heard her speaking in the next room. Dr. Callaghan was home and what he said piqued Gaelstrom's curiosity.

"I just don't know what we're goin' to do," his mother said, "this makes how many times he's been treated like this?"

"He's a wee bit different is all," came Dr. Callaghan, "you know it's funny. Remember my ol' friend from France?"

"Jean-Luc? How could I forget? He's a fine thing."

"You know," Dr. Callaghan's tone was sharp, slightly offended by her statement, "his boy is going through the same shite as Gaelstrom. Except Jean-Luc's son is being forced to lick toilets by these fackers, can you believe that?"

His mother gasped. "That's disgusting! The poor babe."

Gaelstrom's tongue hung out of his mouth at the very mention of licking toilets. Who the hell did that?

"So, what about it?" she asked.

Dr. Callaghan shifted in his chair, judging by the creak Gaelstrom heard. "He wants me to bring Gaelstrom to meet him. There are other reasons Jean-Luc contacted me; personal things in regards to..." he took a breath and spoke quietly. "...Ouroboros."

"Ora-burrows?" Gaelstrom murmured.

His mother sighed. "Oh, Jaysus…"

"You know how it is."

"That man. God help him. So, tomorrow?"

"As the wind blows."

Gaelstrom ran back to his bed as his father came by and sauntered upstairs. His mother joined him and shut the lights off as she went. Gaelstrom lied awake wondering about this boy he was supposed to meet. He'd never been to France before.

What was it like? Furthermore, what was this boy like? He worried he'd be like the one in town, taking bets to play the role of a pretend friend. The hell with him. Gaelstrom tossed and turned, his thoughts not leaving him be. Eventually, sleep found him, though he couldn't recall when.

🔸️ 🔸️

He arrived in France with his father in the countryside. God was it beautiful. The grass was an emerald shade of green, the sky the bluest he'd ever known.

"Welcome to Ville d' Archambeau, Gaelstrom." Dr. Callaghan said as Gaelstrom stepped out of the car and stood before a two-story house. Ivy crept along the walls to a window on the second floor, where he swore someone was watching him. Creepy. They walked to the front door and greeting them was a tall man with white, slicked back hair and gray eyes. Just like Dr. Callaghan's.

"Johnny!" the man hugged Gaelstrom's father. "A pleasure to see you, old friend." He regarded Gaelstrom with a friendly smile.

Judging by his mannerisms and the way he dressed, Gaelstrom wouldn't doubt that he had a great deal of money. That must've been nice. Something else that caught his eye was a rose-gold, metal foot. It seemed out of place, but he thought not to stare. With a musing look in his eye, the tall man leaned forward slightly giving Gaelstrom the notion that he was scrutinizing him. His warm expression, however, fanned away the thought that it was of ill intent.

"Ahh, you must be…"

"Oh, I'm-"

" Non, non, non, don't tell me. I am standing before the one and only Northwind of Galway."

"You know about me?"

The man laughed. "But of course ! I know everything ." He gave Dr. Callaghan a wink.

Gaelstrom smiled. Maybe things really weren't so bad after all. Just then, a small girl with long, dark hair ran outside and tugged at the man's sleeve.

"Papa, who's that?"

"This is our guest, cherie . He's here to see Jean."

"Oh! Bonjour, I'm Sherry." she said waving.

Gaelstrom gave a slight wave back. "I'm Gaelstrom."

Now she was adorable. He'd get along with her, there was no denying. He followed the man and daughter into their home, where the two older men droned on about typical adult things, catching up and discussing more personal matters. Sherry, having grown weary of listening, took Gaelstrom by the hand and led him over to a large portrait on the wall. She pointed and spoke enthusiastically.

"See that man? He's my great, great grandpa. Hehe, doesn't he look funny?"

Gaelstrom chuckled. "Kinda. He has a funny face it's like…" he contorted his face and made Sherry laugh out loud.

Unbeknownst to Gaelstrom a small head was peeking over the bannister, watching them until Sherry extended a hand to him and cried out, "Big brother, there you are! Will you come downstairs and meet Gaelstrom?"

His head disappeared behind the bannister and he responded. "Sorry, I can't right now."

"Aw, why not? He won't bite. See? I'm perfectly fine, hehe!" She turned to Gaelstrom and took him by the hand. "Come on, we'll go meet him ."

She ran up the stairs with Gaelstrom following behind. Standing in front of the window at the end of the hall was an eight-year-old boy. His ears were large and round. Freckles adorned his face, crossing over the bridge of his nose. Catching Gaelstrom off-guard was a horrendously crooked and massive overbite as the boy backed up against the window with a worried look on his face. The sunlight beaming from the window glowed around the outline of his body as the boys stood mere feet apart staring at one another.

Gaelstrom rubbed the back of his neck, scanning his mind for the perfect greeting. None were good enough; too simple. The boy with messy, silver hair clutched his own arm, occasionally stammering over what it was he intended to say. Nearly perspiring, his words built up on the tip of his tongue ready to burst through the awkward silence.

"You're not going to make me lick poop off the toilet seat, are you!?" he cried.

Startled, Gaelstrom grimaced. "Why would I do that?"

The boy blinked and scratched his head. "Oh. I dunno. Other boys make me do it."

"Well," said Gaelstrom, "I got dared to drink out of a toilet once."

"Did you?"

"Yeah, but only 'cause they said I wouldn't."

"Ewww!" came Sherry, as she started giggling.

"Huh," said the boy with silver hair, "never met someone that brave before." His timid nature faltered as a smile shined through his cloud of uncertainty. He stepped away from the window and towards Gaelstrom, extending a hand to him with newfound confidence. None of the kids back in Galway ever bothered to introduce themselves to him before, what with the bullies running the show. The boy's hand surprised him as his gaze left the floor and met his blue eyes.

"I'm Jean Pierre Polnareff. And you are?"

There it was; a potential friend at last. Gael shook his hand wildly. "Gaelstrom Callaghan. But you can call me The Northwind o' Galway."

The boy released his grip and shook his head lightly just to regain coordination. His hair shook around, appearing more unkempt than moments ago. Gaelstrom felt less self-conscious about his own messy hair and removed his hat. A ball of red curls floofed out from under it, making Sherry giggle.

Polnareff gave him a crooked, snaggletoothed smile and ruffed his hair even more. "Twins." he said, pointing to his. Both boys exchanged laughter. The awkward atmosphere had dissolved and Gaelstrom regarded his two new friends with warmth on his heart. For the first time in his life, someone else seemed to understand him; seemed to long for a friend the way he did.

Just then, Polnareff gasped. "What happened?" he asked, his hands gracing Gaelstrom's cheeks to get a better look at his eye. Gaelstrom could feel the heat flushing in his face and ears. The boy's hands were soft to the touch. And not only that, but unlike the boys back in Galway, this one seemed genuine.

"Oh, I got punched in the face." he told him. "They threw rocks at me so I tried to clobber 'em. Didn't end well."

Without warning, Polnareff kissed his eye and stood erect with a smile. The heat flamed in Gaelstrom's ears. Disbelief of what just happened stunned him as his fingertips ghosted his own cheek.

"That's what my mother did when Sherry and I used to get hurt," Polnareff explained, "Kisses fix everything. She told me so."

🔸️ 🔸️

"Gaelstrom. Gaelstrom!"

Gaelstrom jerked awake, hearing the sound of rain on the roof. Looking over to the left of him, a heat lightning flash revealed Polnareff's ghostly figure watching him from Coco Jumbo's key. Puzzling how he could say one thing and do another.

"I thought you weren't talkin' to me the rest of the trip." Gaelstrom said.

Polnareff leaned over the key. "You were talking in your sleep."

"Was I?"

"Yeah. You alright?"

"I'm fine."

He sat up and brought his seat up with him, ready to get out of Tal Hoffnung and find another place to rest. "Looks like we've got some bad weather on our arse."

Cranking the car and shifting gears, he pressed the accelerator, but the car wouldn't budge. Pressing it again, the engine roared and mud spattered the windows.

"Oh, fack me!" He blared the horn and fumed.

"What's wrong?" came Polnareff.

"We're fackin' stuck."

"You've got to be kidding."

"Wish I was." Gaelstrom sat there for a moment before throwing his hands up in defeat. "Well, let's go ask the locals for help."

"What?!"

"I don't got time to sit and wait, Jean."

Polnareff raised his brows. "We can wait until the rain stops, though, come on. What's your hurry?"

Gaelstrom grabbed the case with the sword and placed his hat atop his head. If there were stand users in that town, they'd be prying the sword from his cold, dead hands before he left it in a car. Picking up Coco Jumbo, Gaelstrom opened the door of the car and stepped into the mud with the case in hand.

"This is ludicrous," Polnareff tried to convince him, "we could just wait until the rain stops."

"Aw, quit your whining. A little rain never hurt a dead man."