Nothing really, he says; distance in his eyes told Polnareff otherwise. You're a poor liar. And he'd let him have his secrets. Watching the way the fire glow danced across Gaelstrom's golden skin almost made him believe he was actually sitting there with him, feeling its warmth as he was. Almost. He had to admit, being there with him wasn't too bad, though it most certainly wasn't what he had in mind when it came to going with him to Bratislava. The flame of their friendship was all but gone and he had no desire to rekindle it anytime soon.

Polnareff couldn't help but sense that his judgment was wrong; wrong to shut Gaelstrom out, wrong to hold grudges so tightly they'd melded into him. Since 1977, he'd managed to keep his hatred of him repressed, but aware of it enough not to let it alter who he felt he was. And even then, his mind beared confliction. He hated him for his reprehensible deeds. Hated him so much, he didn't care if he was wiped out of existence. But for some unexplainable reason, his intuition told him something was off.

Ever since Gaelstrom's unexpected reaching out to him, Polnareff caught himself expressing sympathy at times, though deep down he considered it tolerance and nothing more. Tolerance because he was only there to help his father, not him. At least that's how he chose to view it. He held no grudges on Gaelstrom's family for what he'd done that summer. After all, it wasn't like they were the masterminds behind his decided treachery.

Gaelstrom violated the one promise he swore to Polnareff: to stay out of his mother and father's room at all costs - not to touch anything belonging to his mother. Nobody, not even Polnareff, dared to go in there. Not after the traumatic and heart-wrenching course of events that changed his life; the night his mother's death set him off on a lifelong journey of unending sorrow.

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"Maman, finish the song," his four-year-old self would say. "Maman, you have to keep singing or we can't go to sleep!" And sleep would never come, not with his one-year-old sister crying. Not without hearing his mother respond to him first. Shaking her still body did nothing, her vacant gaze remained unbroken. But he wouldn't give up, not until she spoke to him. Hope said: She's only sleeping with her eyes open. Truth said: She was gone, and he and his sister were all alone.

Maybe his father would come back soon, but it wouldn't be until days later. Polnareff had to fend for himself and take care of Sherry in the meantime until someone - anyone - showed up. Leaving the room meant leaving his mother alone and he couldn't do that, not without knowing what went wrong. Days dragged by and baby Sherry's irritability began to weigh on him, bringing his frustration to the surface. Then he heard a door open.

The returning glow of his father's presence renewed a hope that everything would be fixed. His dad would kiss his mother and she'd wake up, maybe that was it! It was a wicked spell and that's why she was so sick before. Jean-Luc limped into the room on a prosthetic leg he didn't have when he last left.

Why's papa walking like that?

Blood soaked through the bandages around his head as he hobbled over to his wife, smiling at first and giving her a warm greeting. It was followed up with an attempt at making humor of his injuries and how he knew she was about to clobber him good for being reckless.

"Rhiannon?" No answer. Again he'd say her name, a panic growing in his voice as he sat on the bed and brushed her dark curls away from her gaunt, discolored face. "No...Rhiannon!"

Jean-Luc sobbed as he took their mother's hand and brought it up to his brow. A welling emotion strangled Polnareff's heart and he didn't understand what that feeling meant, only that it hurt. The sound of his father's ululating burrowed itself into the darkest reaches of Polnareff's mind, and he'd never forget them as long as he lived. Ironically, even in death, he could still hear his labored cries as he clenched his wife's pearl bracelet in his hands.

He recalled the unpleasant, rotten smell exuding from their mother's corpse. In all his pointless optimism, Polnareff watched over her, foolishly believing she'd return to them. Standing before his weeping father that night had all but dissolved that belief.

A never-mending heart forced to accept that the only light in his life had been extinguished, and he would forever wander the world in darkness.

From that day onward, the room's comforting vibe twisted into something haunting. Believably, no soul that knew her could enter that room without a weight of sorrow crushing them in its grasp; no heart could come out of there unscathed by its lingering memory. Over the years, Polnareff's own memory of that room - of his mother's death - bore a hole so deep, his demons took up residence in that abyss to remind him of how his father could have saved her had he come back sooner.

He should've known she was sick. It's all HIS fault...I'll NEVER forgive him.

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Four years since her death, Jean-Luc was faced with the stress of hiring one maidservant after another to look after Polnareff and his sister while he went away. Each and every one quit their job in the same manner, hurling the same complaint in his face upon their departure.

That child is the spawn of the devil!

And whether they went home covered in paint or flour, with or without a jagged haircut, didn't surprise him in the slightest. Eight-year-old Polnareff always had to hear his father's lecturing afterwards.

"They're not my mother, they can't tell me what to do!" he yelled, stomping his foot on the wide steps leading to the front door.

His father gripped his fingers tight around his cane with a scowl on his face. "You will do as you are told, boy!" Jean-Luc scolded.

"Why don't you make me?"

"God dammit, Jean, I'm trying to do what's best for you. Can't you see that?!"

"Yeah right, you're always leaving us alone. Mom wouldn't do that, she loved us. All you ever do is try to make me forget about her. Well, I never will, so go away and leave me alone!"

With that, Polnareff turned his back and stormed around the house and into the backyard, ignoring the sound of Jean-Luc yelling for him.

He ran past the flower garden and into the woods behind their house, wiping his tears on his wrist as he made his way to the one place he could always count on to bring him peace of mind. The only place left that could bring him the comfort he remembered when his mother was there. An oak tree, tall and wide with branches low enough, Polnareff could climb as high as he wanted and still manage to climb back down with ease. Twilight had passed and dusk had fallen on Ville d' Archambeau. For the past three hours, Polnareff sat alone lost in his emotions as well as his deepest thoughts.

"It's not fair," he said, believing his mother was listening from somewhere, "you didn't do anything wrong. Why'd you have to leave?"

He'd been sitting with his knees brought up to his chest, listening to the birds in the forest as they ignored his laments. Polnareff's forehead slumped down into his arms and before he could have a good cry, a voice he dreaded hearing called up to him from below.

"Time to come down," his father said, "it's nightfall."

"Go away."

"Jean, please. Tomorrow's Thursday, if you skip school -"

"I'm not going, so go away."

"Jean Pierre Polnareff! I will not ask you again. Come. Down. Now."

"Why? So Renaud can make me drink dirty toilet water again? Forget it!"

"God dammit," Jean-Luc seethed under his breath, "if you don't listen to me, I swear to god...!" He inhaled into his diaphragm and exhaled slowly, bringing his temper from boiling to barely a simmer. "Please," he implored with a calm voice, "come down, Sherry's been looking for you."

Polnareff let out a loud sigh as he climbed down from the oak tree. "Fine." he muttered, "stupid dad, always telling me what to do..."

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Later that night, he'd gone to bed with thoughts of his mother strongly imprinted in his mind's eye. How could his father try to replace her with a bunch of women he didn't even know? Was constantly going away from home truly more important than his own children? These were the thoughts coursing through his head, hammering away any sense of rational thinking. No, his father was to blame, end of story.

Wind whistled past the window pane as he lied there in just a pair of black pants, exhausted from the frustration burning inside of him all day. In another room, he could hear a door closing and a faint voice speaking to someone. At first, he ignored it, but his curiosity got the best of him. Who else was there at that time of night? He crept down the halls of the second floor and sneaked over to the banister to take a peek over it and see who it was. Nobody was in the foyer, but he discerned his father's voice coming from the living room.

"I'm at my wits end," he heard him say, "Jean's being tormented by his peers. I've tried to discuss things with the faculty but they just won't do anything about it. They refuse to suspend Monsieur Renaud's boy and it's starting to piss me off." A few seconds passed, brief silence filling the house, then his father spoke again. "I am sorry to hear that, Johnny. Children can be quite cruel. Hey, bring your boy by once school is over, he can meet Jean."

Polnareff's ears perked. "What?!" he hissed.

"Of course," Jean-Luc continued, "he can stay the summer with us. I'm sure they'll get along just fine. They're around the same age, aren't they?" Another brief moment of silence came and went. "Well, I've been meaning to invite you here anyway. It's about..."

Shoes clacked into the foyer, his father's legs appearing below the doorway. Then his chest, and before he could catch him eavesdropping, Polnareff ducked his head back behind the table in front of the banister, holding his breath.

"...you-know-what," Jean-Luc limped back by the living room entryway, "no, I haven't spoken to him in some time. You see, ever since Rhiannon..." Polnareff could hear trembling breaths as his father fought the urge to cry. "...well, my boy is grieving. I need to get back to Austria and see my mentor, but I can't just leave my children alone. There is no telling where Stratovarius's user is. For all I know, we may have to relocate Merlin again. I don't know what to do."

Polnareff waited to hear more of what he had to say, wondering what the hell he was going on about. Who the heck was Johnny and Merlin, anyway?

"You and I can figure something out when you bring Gaelstrom with you. I look forward to meeting him...don't worry, I'm sure Jean will like him. He isn't too judgmental...alright, see you then."

The lights in the living room ticked off and his father's footsteps entered the foyer. Before he could walk up the stairs, Polnareff tip-toed quickly back to his room. The door eased closed and he rushed back under the covers, pretending he'd been sleeping the entire time. Not a moment too soon, his bedroom door creaked open and standing in the dimly lit sconce-light was his father. Polnareff closed his eyes just enough he could still appear asleep, though he was watching him through sparsely cracked lids.

Jean-Luc walked into the room, his cane tapping the hardwood floor with each step as he made his way over to his son's bed and took a seat beside him. Oh, no. He gave Polnareff a light shake, speaking to him softly. "Jean, hey."

Polnareff faked a yawn and opened his eyes. "Dad?"

"I'm sorry to wake you like this," Jean-Luc said, "thought you'd like to know: we have a little friend coming to see us once you're finished with school."

Polnareff sat up. "Oh, I thought you were leaving again."

Jean-Luc shook his head. "Not for a while."

"Well, who is it?"

"His name's Gaelstrom Callaghan, he's a friend of mine's son."

He didn't know how to feel about a kid he didn't know coming into their home. What if he was just like Renaud? What if he was worse? Then one thing led to another, and he was comparing someone he didn't know to most of the students in his class. In the same way that they all snickered and whispered as he walked by, what if this boy saw his overbite and large ears and decided to make fun of him like they did? A few hours trapped in a room full of bullies was nothing when it came to being trapped with one in his own home all summer.

If they didn't like him, then he knew without a doubt this other kid wouldn't. Nobody liked his smile, probably not even his father. Without thinking about it, he hid his mouth behind his hand when Jean-Luc took ahold of it gently and lowered it. His warm smile chased his worry away for a moment and Polnareff silenced his mind chatter.

"Come on, now," his father said, "don't go getting self-conscious, there's nothing wrong with the way you look."

"Yes, there is," he said in a gloomy tone, "everybody thinks I'm ugly."

"Who does?"

"Renaud and his friends, the girls in my class, everyone. Bet the teachers think I'm ugly, too."

Jean-Luc tilted his chin up. "You are not ugly, boy. You're a Polnareff, it's universally impossible."

Polnareff sighed. "I'll believe it when I see it."

"Should I get the mirror?"

"Dad..."

Jean-Luc laughed. "What?"

"I don't act right around other kids," Polnareff explained, "I'm scared they're gonna join in with everyone else."

"Why?"

"Because they always do, even the new kids."

Jean-Luc placed his hand over his. "Don't worry about it," he said with a smile, "if it means this much to you, I'll see about getting your teeth fixed."

Polnareff cracked a crooked-toothed smile. "Really?"

"If that's what you want." Jean-Luc pressed his palms against his cane and rose up from sitting. He started out of the room when Polnareff spoke up, unsure that he wanted to say anything at all, but felt it would ease the guilt beginning to dwell inside him.

"Hey, dad?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry about what I said earlier. Please don't hire anymore maids, it's not fair to mom."

Jean-Luc frowned as he took a seat next to him again. "Jean, there is nothing in this world that can replace your mother."

"Then why do you hire them?"

"Because someone needs to be here to help you," he explained, "but only while I'm away. They're not going to live with us forever. You have nothing to worry about."

Polnareff sighed. "I guess I should apologize to them, huh?"

Jean-Luc nodded. "I should think so. Look at it this way: they are mothers, too. If your mother was one of them, and another child did to her what you did to the maids, how would you feel?"

Polnareff balled his fists. "I'd punch their face so hard their head would spin in circles for days."

Jean-Luc let out a hearty laugh. "Maybe that's how that child feels after seeing that awful haircut you gave his maman." Polnareff snorted at the thought of the woman's lop-sided haircut. Jean-Luc lightly swatted his arm with the back of his hand. "Non, boy, that's not funny."

His chest heaved up and down, poorly concealing his laughter. "It is a little."

"But listen," Jean-Luc told him on a more serious note, "these women have done nothing wrong, okay? They are like your mother in some ways. They have children who care as much for them as you do for yours. I believe all women have a kindness to them, no matter how flawed they may seem from an outside perspective. And they will grant you that kindness if you are kind first. Understand?"

Polnareff nodded. "I think so."

Jean-Luc sat with him and talked about anything that caught their interests. For a moment, Polnareff believed that his father truly loved him, almost in the sense that his mother did. But in time, as he predicted, his father went away again. Leaving Polnareff to feel betrayed. When would Jean-Luc finally stop going off on one of his escapades for months at a time? Constantly hearing Sherry ask, where is papa? had begun to annoy him to no end. She shouldn't have felt the need to ask something like that so often. It wasn't fair. Soon, Polnareff's hopes of his father sticking around crashed and burned.

Not a single ounce of faith in him could be salvaged. Instead, he focused more of his time and energy into being there for Sherry since no one else seemed to be. When he'd find himself alone, he'd remember his mother and her pearl bracelet, something Polnareff didn't want anyone touching. And no one would, until that fateful day in 1977 when he found Gaelstrom standing in his mother's room, clutching onto his mother's freshwater pearls.

A thief and a judas. Calling Gaelstrom a friend now would be a slap in his mother's face. Bringing himself to forgive him would disgrace her memory.

Since a few years before Sherry's murder, Polnareff had put him out of his mind entirely, coming to the realization of what a low-down piece of trash he really was. Yes, their friendship was beautiful while it lasted, but it was also an undeniable lie. Polnareff eventually moved on with his life, finding it difficult to accept the hardships he'd faced. Deep down he held fast to a belief that things would someday get better. They just had to. Maybe someday he'd meet unforgettable friends; true friends. And he would, but not until 1988, the year he met the Joestar group in Hong Kong.