In The Rich Man's World - Retlasute - ジョジョの奇妙な冒険 | JoJo no Kimyou na Bouken (2024)

Chapter 1: Knowing Me, Knowing You

Chapter Text

You rolled over on the bathroom floor and mumbled something like ''Aaaaargh!''. You chewed on some dry air and spit it out; opened one eye to see if it really would open; then you opened the other and closed the first; closed the second one, straightened up, opened your eyes again, and stretched. It was a daily practice and this time the only notable thing was that you had a hangover and that it had happened on a Wednesday morning and...

Yesterday was Monday.

Well, you knew it was Wednesday. But there was a problem: even though you had no doubt that yesterday was Monday, there was a gap between Monday and now, a gap that should have been filled by Tuesday. If a guy falls asleep and lies there all night without dreaming, he is aware, when he wakes up, that time has passed. That person has not done anything that he can remember; he thought of nothing; he has no means of calculating time, and yet he knows that some hours have elapsed. The same happened to you. Tuesday was gone for five hours of last night's sleep.

But you didn't sleep on Tuesday. No, no. You were pretty sure you weredrinking, judging by the bottles of wine strewn about in the hallway. In fact, you never slept more than five hours at a time, and there was no particular reason why you should now. Monday was the day before yesterday; you had gone to bed and slept at your usual hours, then you woke up – and it was Wednesday.

It felt like Wednesday. It was a Wednesday feeling that hung in the air.

You put on your coat and got up. You weren't mistaken. Youknew what day it was.

''What happened to yesterday?'' You mumbled. ''Oh... Yesterday was Monday.''

That was enough until you changed your clothes and showered.

''Monday.'' You mused, picking up your lab coat. If you were restless enough, you would think about it more. But you weren't. You were comfortable with that, for some reason.

In general, you were a very conformed person, who got into a routine and only got out of it by force. You work as a researcher and archaeologist for an oil company called Speedwagon Foundation, earning $4 an hour; that's why youhad been practicing your profession for two years and would continue to practice it if you could find a Tuesday to go back to the laboratory.

Guided by reflexes, as usual, and without making any mental effort, you ate breakfast and got into your Cadillac Seville. Your father bought this car just after its launch year, but he soon gave it to you as he found public transport and taxis too dangerous.

In less than fifteen minutes you arrived at the Speedwagon Foundation building. That was one of the dozens that were scattered across the United States. But that particular building, located in a quiet industrial neighborhood in Washington, had a special air on that Wednesday.

You parked your car, locked it, and pocketed the keys, walking on the cracked cement of the floor while trying not to overbalance in your heels. Though the hangover destroyed you, you still had to maintain the professional, seductive air that seemed to be the only thing keeping your job in this place, according to your boss.

Whenentered the building, you greeted all of your co-workers. And there was something there that made you stop and think.

It was all unfinished.

The tables were still in place, but the hostess wasn't there. Also, the chairs sharing their usual cushions, the slightly cracked tables, the beige wallpaper with two repeating swans, the tube television in the corner of the break room, and the sloping armchair. But everything was about to be finished. Not that there were holes in anything. The old Robert O. Speedwagon painting was still there. However, there was the smell of old cut wood, a subtle and stubborn air of the environment under construction in the room and objects. It was indefinable, irresistible, and you remained motionless, absorbed and thoughtful. You looked around suspiciously but didn't see anything you could really be suspicious of. Then you shook your head and walked out into the hall.

On the stairs a four-foot-tall man was delicately scraping the third step from the top with a sharp chisel, making a new scar in the dirty wood. Helooked up as you approached and immediately jumped to his feet.

''Hello.'' You said, looking at the little man's leather coat, his pointed hat, and his small, withered, bright-eyed face. ''What are you doing?''

''Fixing.'' He announced. ''Mister Thom has a nail in the sole of his shoe. He came out of the office later on Monday and scratched the wood on this step. The job needs to be done before Wednesday.''

''Today is Wednesday.'' You corrected.

''Of course. Was always. Always will be.''

You ignored him and started up the stairs, absentmindedly making sure it wasn't your heels scuffing the wood. You acquired your impressive passivity thanks to your job and the practice of ignoring everything when you couldn't understand. But one thing still bothered you.

''You said Thom left work late Monday?''

''Yes. I saw Miss Louise lock up the lab just before he went downstairs.''

''You're crazy, man. Louise has a cold, she's not coming to work this week.'' You scolded him.

''She's better, she came to work today.''

''Stop pranking. And why didn't she come on Monday?''

''She came on Monday! I'm sorry, but I have to get back to work. We can't leave anything behind, you know. Tuesday will be over soon and everything should be ready before then.''

This guy is really crazy, you thought and smiled without much conviction. You shook your head. Weird morning, that one. It was a good thing you would soon be at the lab, where you kept a sample of an incorrupt body dipped in formaldehyde, ready to be sent for necropsy. After you got your head together, you could forget all that nonsense. That's all that matters to you: work, eat, sleep, and wait for payday.

The third floor was busy – but it always had been. Just not in that way -. There were a lot of people, even from other areas, concentrated in Ward 2. That was your ward. Everything was just the way you left it, including the notes on the blackboards and the body parts in formaldehyde. If there was something you didn't know about preserving and finding bodies, it wasn't important. And watching the scene, you couldn't get a general idea of what was going on.

Among the swarm of men in lab coats, a mane of red hair stood out, walking away from the crowd and bumping into you. Louise. You and she were the only women working in that building - if not that company - and that fact brought you together on and off the job. But didn't she have a cold? What was she doing there?

''What's going on, Louise?'' You ask the young woman who has hurried past you, holding her lightly by the shoulders. The hangover headache still had a giddy effect on your mind.

''Oh, (Y/N), where were you last night? I called you a thousand times! We did it, (Y/N)!''

''What? Sorry... Can you repeat that? I don't know if I understand.''

''Oh, jeez... Alright,'' she said, looking around to check out the rapt group of co-workers, in a turbulent sea of white and gray lab coats. ''let's go get some coffee.''

She guided you by the shoulders away from the noise, acknowledging your sorry state. People there hardly ever made coffee pure, bitter and made for a person with a hangover; so there were only capsules of latte and cinnamon cappuccino, which Louise was forced to put in the coffee machine to offer to her irresponsible friend. The machine delivered the latte with a perfectly balanced foam, a pleasant temperature, and a flavor worthy of an encapsulated coffee. You drank it slowly, trying to get used to the bitter mix of flavors in your mouth.

''Let's take it easy...'' Louise said, sitting down opposite youand resting her chin childishly in her hands, sliding a report across the table towards you.

''You can just tell me what we did.''

''See for yourself.''

You peeked at the paper over your cup of latte, restraining yourself from spitting it out right away.

Seeing in lay eyes, there was nothing much. But in your eyes, that was a lot. 39.704768, -74.633310. Coordinates, followed by necropsy reports. Radiation measurements, bone structure analysis, endurance tests, and a dozen more tests were done last night when you were partying at a glow party with your friends. So many reports ready in so little time could only mean one thing.

''Is that... What I'm thinking?'' You asked, wiping away the last of the latte that clung to your lips. ''That's it...''

''Project Ecclesiastes. Yes.''

You smiled, took a deep breath, and laughed. A relieved, choppy laugh you've been saving for months for this moment. You didn't sleep well and your legs were wobbly, even though you were now sitting up.

''Where is it? Does Thom already know about this? Oh, of course he knows! Where is Thom?! You said that to...''

''Hey, hey, calm down, (Y/N)! We have all the time in the world. Have your coffee and let's see the finished project when everyone leaves the lab. See, the kitchen has never been so empty! Nobody wants to miss work today!''

''You're right... But do you already know its identity? I mean... Did all these exams point to something relevant?''

''Nothing truly relevant, but it's certainly intriguing. Male, died aged thirty-three, of typical Middle Eastern origin. Dark brown to black hair, brown eyes...''

''Eyes?''

''Yeah, eyes.''

''Eyes?!''

''Eyes, (Y/N)! We have never found a body in such a good state of conservation!''

''Oh my God!''

''What are you doing here? Talking about makeup and hair, drinking coffee? Do you think you're in a restaurant?'' A voice in the background echoed and you both looked towards the door. A man in a lab coat and disheveled hair had come in to drink a glass of water. You assumed he was one of Louise's coworkers, as you've seen her hanging out with him a few times, although she didn't seem to like him very much.

''(Y/N) was late and I offered her a coffee, that's all, Ed.'' Louise snapped, frowning.

''Oh, so she got a coffee for being late to work? If that's the case, I'm going to change my alarm clock starting today.''

''Excuse me...'' You got up quickly, slightly embarrassed, and started walking towards the door with the cup of latte in your hand, causing the unfriendly conversation between Louise and her co-worker to become muffled behind you.

You walked in long strides to the laboratory where you used to work; itwasn't yours, but essentially everyone knew you were the person who spent the most time there. Louise, cursing, ran after you; but suddenly, in the space between you two, a big pale hand appeared. The void receded, displaying an opening between the laboratory and the inconsistent, blind nothingness. From there emerged a tall man wearing formal clothes and a lab coat with more pockets than usual. Louise bowed her head in front of the newcomer. There was no one in that building with more noble and imposing features, with shoulders so broad that they looked like a large trunk. The man stopped with the backs of his hands propped on his hips, looking at Louise as if she were something someone forgot to sweep up.

''Thom!'' You and Louise said in unison, your eyes wide, but she cared far more than you did to show respect.

''Good morning to you ladies.'' Hesaid sharply. ''(Y/N), I hope you brought some justification for your lateness on such an important day.''

''Oh... Yes, of course. I wasn't feeling very well, you know... But what's going on?'' You asked, baffled by your lack of professionalism.

''You'll need to see for yourself.'' He walked forward, ignoring the space your body occupied and bumping into you. ''I thought Louise had already explained everything to you.''

Louise murmured and you were silent, looking at some things on your desk that you didn't remember putting there. On the table were a ton of papers and cups of cold coffee; as well as your computer and various tools and scalpels... a complete mess. But what really caught your attention was a kind of pile lying on the floor. It was the same size as glass, its ends were shaped like a nut on a screw, and the two poles connected with an aluminum cable whose sides extended into other wires attached to a structure that you imagined was built in the space of time that should have been Tuesday. Louise didn't seem to notice, or at least she already knew it was there.

Thomas Foster, responsible for managing the main headquarters of the Speedwagon Foundation in Washington DC. He stopped in front of your desk, making a smooth gesture for Louise to go away and close the door behind her. You noticed all his gestures, but you didn't say or did anything, leaving Louise to obey him promptly. Dark brows, elegant and shapely lifted, intrigued and inquiring, as he smoothed over a few messy strands of your hair.

''Ecclesiastes.'' He muttered as you looked around the lab, looking for any signs of the corpse amidst the mess.

''Neither the wise nor the fool will be remembered forever... Both will be forgotten.'' You completed, inert.

The hangover still clouded your mind, but now the clear figure you were looking for was just ahead, on top of an ordinary stainless steel autopsy table. Delicate, reminiscent, with vivid and aged traits of someone who once was. Man. Thirty-three years. Middle East. Brown to dark hair. Maybe that was your life's work, but that wasn't what blew you away.

''You... You went to get the body instead of me?''

''You weren't answering the calls, so yeah.''

''Oh... I'm sorry, I don't know how I could have been so careless. I...''

''It's okay, (Y/N).'' You felt the warmth of his hand on your shoulder. The heat was so strong it seeped through the fabric of your clothes. ''Louise was a great help.''

''So... you worked with her late?''

''Yes. Why?''

''Nothing... I just thought she had a cold.'' You cleared your head and smiled. ''Come on, Thom, do what you always do. Answer some of my questions.''

He smiled and corrected his posture, his relaxed eyes looking directly into your face.

"What's on your mind, (Y/N)?"

''I read the report, but most of the results were blurred. How many parts were the corpse divided into?''

''Nine. Legs, arms, ears, torso, eyes and head. Some kind of... accessory was found next to the corpse, let's do a DNA test to confirm whether or not it belongs to the corpse.''

''Was the corpse recently divided?''

''Evidently not.'' He replied, motioning you to approach the corpse for a better look. ''There are official records from 1890 that mention the location of a vertebral column with the same characteristics that we found in this corpse. We're talking about a corpse that's at least... I mean... At least 85 years old since it was... Ah, you know.''

You looked at him and his sudden nervousness at mentioning it, raising one of your eyebrows as if your look said it all. He didn't look back at you and took a deep breath, he looked a bit stressed and tired. So you looked back at the corpse and figured the news in question must date from 1890 onwards. So it wasn't exactly the headlines of the day. In the office, the only subject was a phenomenon that you had been studying for months called Devil's Palm.

''I saw the coordinates that found the corpse. They were the same ones I had recorded on myDP tracker. Is there any explanation for this?''

''Explanations, no. Pieces of information, yes. The corpse was kept in a kind of iron coffin, a farmer found it and reported it to the fire department.''

''And how did they let you take it?''

''It is not relevant information. What you need to know, (Y/N), is that we still have a lot of work to do, and you will have a partner in the future.''

''Right... Wait, partner? They didn't tell me anything about it.''

''I'm saying it now, in advance.''

''But why? Did I do something wrong? I mean... I wasn't on my work schedule when Louise called me yesterday, technically not my fault, and...''

"It's okay, (Y/N), you didn't do anything wrong." He cut you off, placing a hand on your shoulder and looking at you calmly. ''I can't tell you for sure who your partner will be, but I have some idea who it is.''

You stayed quiet and stared at him. Thom leaned toward you, close to yourface, speaking out of the corner of his mouth like a movie gangster in a roguish way.

''I, huh... borrowed some reports from the boss.''

''You're the boss, Thom.'' You gave a not-very-genuine smile.

''Yes, your boss. But I also have a boss. You won't tell anyone, right?''

Amused, you promised not to reveal his terrible secret and looked around for a comfortable armchair where you could receive the latest revelations from the 19th century and your laboratory. The chair closest to the window seemed suitable when Thom poured him a glass of whiskey as he sat down. And by the way, thank god you had sat down. That heel was strangely uncomfortable today like there were dozens of needles inside the insole. Strange, you thought, these weren't usually uncomfortable heels.

You drank the whiskey elegantly and ignored the pain in your feet.

''Incredible luck, (Y/N).'' He exclaimed excitedly, flipping through the already battered stack. ''I found a whole series of military and informal dispatches that mention the corpse. All of them are concentrated over a period of 116 days.''

''116 days? In 1890? How did these dispatches stand the test of time?''

''Like I said, incredible luck.'' He dragged his chair closer to yours, carefully sorting through a pile of documents and spreading them out on the table. ''The oldest is from September 16, 1890, and the most recent is from January 19, 1891. Do you know what happened during that time frame?''

''I don't know... Oklahoma and fried chicken come into existence?''

''Also... I mean, I don't know, but maybe. I'm talking about Steel Ball Run, (Y/N).''

You can't help but laugh.

''Steel Ball Run?'' You asked, crossing your arms. ''Ah, of course. When it's not about the Steel Ball Run?''

He laughed but in a short way.

''The Steel Ball Run was what it was and there's nothing I can do about it. I just want to find out. The documents and letters are strange, for that particular time; most are without stamps or signatures, and everything indicates that the main means of delivery was through carrier pigeons. One of the letters, received in the United States on October 29, 1890, bears the coat of arms of the Vatican.''

''Vatican? Talking about the corpse?''

''Yes.''

You were stunned for a few seconds, but then you recovered.

''So it's definitely an incorrupt body...''

''I'm not sure, check it out.''

He handed you the letter, a knowing smile on his face. You read it slowly and calmly, letter by letter.

''Signor Gyro Zeppeli,

There are no existing records of such saints.

That is all.''

Thom, unable to sit still any longer, stopped your reading.

''See it... At that time they already had suspicions that this corpse belonged to a saint, although they were not confirmed.''

''And they didn't even need confirmation...'' You commented, looking at the pile of other letters aboutthe corpse that were sent in that period. ''Who is that Gyro Zeppeli? A researcher?''

''I looked him up in the university database that held these files.'' He stopped to drink more whiskey. The gulp visibly traveled down his long, chiseled neck, making his Adam's apple shimmer. ''I have a lot of information about a long Italian lineage called Zeppeli, but only one record about Gregorio Zeppeli's eldest son, Iulius Caesar, leaving for the American continent in March 1890.''

''What a presumptuous name... But using a false identity on another continent? Now I don't think he's a researcher. Is he an ancestor of Jimmy Page?''

''Jimmy Page?''

''You know, the guitarist from Led Zeppelin.''

''Led Zeppelin? I thought it was a person, not a band!'' He said, laughing.

''Jesus, Thom!'' You laughed along, raising your eyebrows. ''And you still insist on saying you're not old!''

''I'm not old, just too mature for rock bands!''

''Ah, yeah, yeah... sure.'' You replied with an enhanced tone of irony, still laughing. ''But this Zeppeli family... were they aristocrats or something? You said they had a lot of records about them.''

''An extensive lineage of doctorsand executioners from the kingdom of Naples. They developed a unique technique... Ever heard of the Fibonacci sequence?''

''Fibonacci? I got a bunch of red marks in high school because of this bastard. Are you telling me he was a Zeppeli?''

''No. Fibonacci was a Fibonacci, (Y/N).''

''Oh, of course.'' You laughed. ''Anything else?''

''Well... '' His eyes lifted to his face. ''Just some theories from me and... we need to talk about your future partner.''

''Let's talk about me later.'' You got up slowly and took the bottle of whiskey to fill both your glasses. ''Tell me what you're thinking, Thom.''

You can see that, despite his apparent outward restraint, he was bubbling over with whatever he had discovered, like a little boy with a frog in his pocket. Obviously, you would have to listen to everything he had to say this time, sitting on the arm of his chair, with your thighs resting against his torso and his arm draped around your hip.

Thom was so absorbed with the corroded papers that he barely looked up when he felt the rising heat of your body. Now and then he would reluctantly hand you over and peek at them as if he couldn't bear to have the papers out of his sight even for an instant.

''Really?'' You said politely, fingering the grimy pieces of paper. ''Hmmm... yes, very interesting.''

In fact, the ornate handwriting was so worn and elaborate that it didn't seem worth deciphering. One leaf, better preserved than the rest, bore a sort of crest at the top.

''Steel Ball Run, right?'' You asked, carefully analyzing the stamped paper, with the faded figure of a horse galloping on a horseshoe and the letters printed underneath in a kind of ranking, clearer than the manuscripts.

''Yes, that's right.'' He said, even more beaming. ''A record of the winner of one of the stages, as you know.''

You didn't know, but you nodded intelligently, knowing as you knew your boss in the mad rush of discovery. It was seldom necessary to do more than shake the head now and then, exclaiming "Oh, really?" or "Absolutely fascinating!" at appropriate intervals.

After a certain amount of deferential exchange between you and Thom, he has earned the honor of telling you about another discovery. Evidently, most of that old paperwork indicated that the promoter of the Steel Ball Run, the famous Stephen Steel, was not only an undefeated organizer of the race but also a trusted agent of the twenty-third president of the United States, Funny Valentine, coming up with the idea of the transcontinental race fully sponsored by the government and by the oil company Speedwagon.

''The investments in the search for this corpse are for a reason after all.'' You elegantly urged him to say more about it.

''Yes, that's true, but we still don't know the exact reason.'' He said, taking the paper from your hands and placing it on the table. ''I'll need to check more things out of the university's kept records.''

''All this is... absolutely fascinating.'' You murmured, letting your attention drift to the man's slender hands that were now sliding over the thin fabric of your pantyhose. ''Really, we still have a lot of work to do.''

His breathing became deeper and deeper. He made you get up and sit on his lap, bending you down to kiss him. This went on for a long time and his hands trailed down, finding the buttons on your blouse and unfastening them. His warm breath tickled your breasts. Finally, your clothes were open from neck to waist, covered only by your bra.

''Oh...'' He said, in a different voice. ''We still have unfinished business.''

''Unfinished business?'' You questioned in a low voice as you ran your hands through the short, black strands of his hair.

"We haven't talked about you yet, (Y/N)..."

You cut him off with yet another kiss. He groped your back in gentle, steady motions, pressing you against his body until your hips fit perfectly.

''Then say it.'' You replied, tilting your head to lightly nip his earlobe.

Affected by the numbness of anticipated pleasure, Thom enunciated his words practically and automatically.

''Your new partner...'' He began, his face buried between your breasts. ''It's Louise... she got promoted... she's going to work in the lab next week.''

You stopped suddenly, surprised. The only words yourmind recorded were ''Louise'' and ''promoted''. Sensing your hesitation, Thom lifted his head and looked at you.

''Something wrong, sweetheart?''

Your wide eyes stared into his and an icy wave of indignation coursed through your body. The fact that your new partner was Louise wasn't something that bothered you, but why would she get a promotion and you wouldn't? Why were you angry about this? She was your friend, and you weren't jealous or envious. Thom was your boss who occasionally asked you to have sex, that should put you in some privileged position, right? You liked him but at the end of the day you were preserving your career.

''Louise was promoted? But she isn't even a scientist...''

''Well, yes. She works in the HR department... she will start to regulate the laboratory area.''

''She will... Will you supervise my work, Thom?''

''What?'' He let out a nervous laugh. ''Don't get me wrong, (Y/N). We just thought you might need some assistance now that...''

''Assistance?! You put Louise to supervise me!''

You quickly extricated yourself from his arms and stood up, fastening the buttons on your blouse and straightening the rest of your wrinkled clothes. Undeniably outraged by this turn of events, Thom made a frustrated gesture with his hands and also stood up, looking at you as he ran a hand through his hair. He always did that when he was too stressed.

''What did you want me to do, (Y/N)? Louise has been a great worker within her department!''

''A great worker?! What about me?! I've been tracking the f*cking Devil's Palm for months, I developed an automatic tracking program that you used to find that damn corpse! That sh*tty dry body is here, in this lab, because of me!''

''For God's sake, (Y/N), you were totally wasted the night we needed you! The corpse is only here because Louise talked to that farmer!''

''Oh, good for her! I was already done with my damn shift, Thom. I developed the program that you guys use so much! I should have been promoted!''

''You're lucky you're not unemployed right now, (Y/N)!'' This time, his voice was loud and angry enough for the entire building to hear, including the poor janitors behind the door.

''What?'' Shaken, you stammered. "What did you say?"

''Do you know how many complaints I get every day because of your insubordination? Or did you think that working hungover and offending your co-workers are things the Speedwagon Foundation condones? I'm the only reason you're still here, (Y/N). You are a damn ingrate, you should be silent and keep your head down!''

Yes, silent and head down. You thought. That was the way to face the situation and leave that room in cold blood. Your blood, however, was far from cold. You were seething with anger and agitation and could not calm down. After a few seconds in this state, your face was flushed, and your head began to throb.

''No.'' You said. ''I'm the one who keeps everyone in this company. It's because of me that the corpse was found, it's because of me that we'll never lose the location of the Devil's Palm, and it's because of me that the competing foundation didn't beat us! It's because of me, I deserve the credit! I developed the program, I examined dozens of batches of mummified corpses, and I finished the necropsy on each one of them! Me, Thom, just me! All the other good-for-nothings only served to pass me scalpels! It's because of me that your boss hasn't slit your neck yet, because he doesn't know you go around banging the employees!''

''You're crazy, (Y/N)! You have to thank me for still working here!''

You glared at him, snorting. Ideas of what to do next were in short supply at the moment, despite the time you knew you'd spend hammering away at the problem. You decided, then, that storming out of that building was the best alternative you could have. And you did.

The door opened violently and you saw a mixture of surprised and curious faces in the hallway, including Louise's, who was holding two cups of latte – one of which you deduced was yours –. You ignored everyone and kept walking, not bothering to be followed by the red-haired girl.

''Hey, (Y/N)! What happened? I heard a lot of screaming.'' She questioned, walking hurriedly and being careful not to spill the drink she was holding, that's when she noticed that she was too far away from you. ''Damn, how can you walk so fast in those heels?''

You didn't look back, you just deftly descended the stairs, not worrying about scratching them again and prepared to walk through that door and add that event to your list of recalcitrance at that company.

''Oh, alright, you want to be alone...'' You heard Louise babble while she was still going down the stairs. Obstinate, you just opened the door and walked through it to the parking lot. ''I'll call you later, okay? Just to make sure you're okay!''

Chapter 2: Mamma Mia

Chapter Text

You didn't want to go home, so you spent the rest of your day on a playground, watching the children and waiting for some middle-aged woman to try to kick you out for smoking. Surprisingly, this did not happen. The biggest adversity you faced during that time was waiting for a lady to see the time on her watch after you asked her.

''It's six o'clock.'' Finally the lady spoke.

"Thank you.'' You answered, getting up and throwing the cigarette butt on the floor to step on it with your heel.

Unceremoniously, you got into your car and struggled a bit to get it turned on, just as you struggled to stop the steering wheel from locking. You were still waiting for payday so you could send your Cadillac in for repair.

Seeing the reflection of your eyes in the rearview mirror, you put on your sunglasses. Then you began to think. Your mind remained the whole day in a state of icy rage, unable to think straight. However, when you were three blocks away from the Speedwagon Foundation building, a whirlwind went through your mind. You began to think about everything Thom had said. He had done everything a man can do wrong, and you didn't like the way his eyes were fixed on Louise. He was no man for you: no character, not enough money, lost at work. Yet you couldn't deny how helpful he was.

The headwind seemed to blow stronger when you stopped the car in front of the building and got out, looking up. The sky was gray and laden with dense clouds, opaque and gloomy. Without wasting any time, you found that the whole building was locked, so you circled around it and stretched out your arms to lift a garden gnome who, like a little guardian, was hiding the spare keys to the building. Thom was not a very clever man when it came to security against intruders, for that garden gnome would be the first thing a burglar would use to break the windows - and when he caught it, he would see the keys gleaming before him.

The building was dark, different from what you usually saw every day. You'd never been in the habit of staying there after hours to see how things were at night. You went upstairs and stole some candy, putting it in your coat pocket to eat later. Then you walked through the corridors to the laboratory. Your laboratory.

You turned on the lights, finding the corpse in the same place it had been. A rush of cool air hit your knees and you shivered slightly, still approaching the stainless steel table to observe the incorrupt body lying there.

At first glance, analyzing it calmly, it was a beautiful corpse, in mortuary science terms. Without bothering to put on gloves, you touched it, having a strange and indistinct sensation when you felt the dry and remaining flesh of the ribs. As if you heard a noise that at that moment seemed unreal - if you were to try to describe it, you would say it was the noise you would expect from a thousand-year-old corpse.

The body had been divided for at least a century or two, since the cause of death did not show any mutilations worthy of dismemberment. Now, on the table, each part was fitted together like a puzzle piece; and what intrigued you the most, in fact, was the preservation of the ears and eyes, the first organs to decompose naturally.

You have spent years studying incorruptibility and you have never seen such a case. Usually these phenomena are attributed to extremely important canonized figures, as if they were too good to rot. The preservation of incorrupt bodies, especially of the figure in front of you, went far beyond phenomena such as adipocere or practices such as mummification. On closer examination, the corpse continued to amaze you: the heart was intact, inside the rib cage, as it should be. As a glimpse, you saw that the corpse's hands were pierced.

Intrigued, your hands unconsciously slid down to touch the corpse's arms. The limb, like a magnet, attracted you and clung to your flesh. Obviously, your first reflex was to scream and shake your hand to get rid of the other arm that was fused to yours. You bumped into some cabinets, knocked over some glass and successfully threw the corpse's right arm to the other side of the room.

"What?!'' You said, paralyzed by shock. "What the hell was that?!''

Were you crazy? No. It was impossible. You not only saw that arm merge with yours, you felt it.

When you asked Thom if the corpse had been divided recently, he answered vaguely and started acting as if you already knew what he was talking about and as if it was irrelevant information. Did he know that? Did he know that this corpse simply tried to merge with anyone who touched it?

No, this was absurd and you had to be crazy. A wave of curiosity went through your body, telling you to move closer again to see what happened, but your survival instinct wouldn't let you be that stupid.

But you moved closer again, ignoring the fact that one of the arms had been thrown away.

"I'm not a coroner... not a very good one.'' You said to the corpse. "But there's something wrong with you.''

Even so, you automatically looked at the cranium, observing the bones, mentally naming them as you saw them. The smooth arch of the parietals, fused to the slope of the temporal, with the little protrusion where the mandibular muscle originated, the protuberance that joined with the maxillary projection to form the graceful curve of the scaly arch. The upper jaw showed most of the teeth.

Eyes deep, the hollow bone of the back of the orbits shaded and dark; the orbits, however, were perfectly preserved in a glass jar. You closed your eyes, getting a better feel for the relief and the cuts in the skull.

''Someone killed you. Or at least hurt you badly.'' You said. "You didn't want to die, right? You were crucified, just like Jesus?''

You looked at the other hand still on the stretcher and analyzed the large hole in its palm. Confident in the idea of crucifixion, you looked at the corpse's feet and confirmed your theory when you saw that they were also perforated.

With the cause of death in mind, you remembered the reports they had already finished about the corpse and decided to look for them in Thom's office. He didn't put them on his desk, as that would be too obvious; he put them in one of the storerooms, partially hidden by a red file. He didn't want the employees to use that very special cabinet.

Among the paperwork, however, a blue stamp from the HR department caught your eye. Louise's signature was clear and in neat handwriting, but the field where the department head's signature should have been was empty. In the middle of the sheet, the first thing you read was ''a complaint of sexual harassment in the workplace.''

There was another sheet of paper stapled on the back, a sort of petition for a women-only restroom in the building. Obviously, like the harassment complaint, the petition paper was filed away, waiting forever for some sort of superior approval.

You returned to the corridor with the paperwork in hand and thought again. Perhaps...

Then the sound of something or someone coming up the stairs echoed, but there were no security guards that night. Why the hell did you leave the front door open?

Fearing that it was some intruder with worse intentions than yours, you hid in the kitchen and looked for a knife; obviously you found nothing, so you settled for grabbing the coffee machine with the intention of causing head trauma to whoever the individual was. The footsteps approached the kitchen door and you heard the soft humming of the classic ''Dem Dry Bones'', as if the person was singing quietly to himself.

The handle spun around and your arms rose up, ready for the attack. However, when the door opened, a shrill scream disconcerted you and also made you scream along.

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph!'' You heard the person shout. ''(Y/N)! Are you crazy? Did you want to kill me?!''

A sudden breath of fresh air made you shrink and close your eyes, when you opened them again, the light of the night sky through the window was enough for you to see the intruder.

"What are you doing here?'' You asked accusingly.

At the same time Louise asked, also in an accusing tone.

''Were you going to hit me with this coffee machine?''

Still a little confused, you answered without thinking.

"Yes.'' Then you dropped the object on the floor. "What are you doing here, Louise?''

''What are you, (Y/N), doing here?'' She asked, this time in a relaxed tone. "You almost killed me, in every way!''

''I came to see the corpse.''

''And you came to get all the paperwork too, apparently.'' She said in an ironic tone, referring to the box of files lying on the sink. ''I came... Ah... I forgot something important on my desk.''

"Something important?''

''Yes... A gift.''

"A gift?'' You smiled and raised only one eyebrow. ''Is it for your boyfriend?''

"He's not my boyfriend! Just... A keeper!''

''And the giftt is some kind of engagement ring?''

''Shut up, (Y/N)!'' She gave a slight shove on your shoulder, blushing. ''Come on, where are the keys?''

You laughed some more before answering.

"I have the keys... Let's go to your department.''

Louise nodded and you made sure to leave the box of reports on your desk in the lab. For a moment you felt a chill in your stomach as you entered the messy room with her, fearing that she might see the corpse without an arm. But your friend kept talking about a date she had set up with her European boyfriend, so this worry quickly went away as soon as you closed the lab door and started looking for the keys to the HR department.

You glanced at the large cuckoo clock above the door before opening it. It was half past seven and dark as midnight.

When you found the right key, you elegantly motioned for Louise to come in first and turn on the lights. But she was so focused on finding the gift that she didn't bother to look for the switch. Meanwhile, she kept talking about her European boyfriend. He was like most of Louise's boyfriends: tall, with short hair, a basketball player's body, but you don't remember seeing her talk about anyone the way she talked about him. It was as if she had been converted.

Despite this, she was still bothered when you said he was her boyfriend.

"So... Where are you going with your not-a-boyfriend tomorrow?''

Louise laughed, still looking through her drawers for the gift.

"He said it is a surprise. He's a gentleman.''

"You said he was Italian, right?''

"Yes, I'm teaching him some English... Some songs.''

"Really? And what kind of music are you teaching him, Mamma Mia?''

She was silent for a few seconds, and your mouth slowly opened in disbelief.

''No way, Louise.''

She gritted her teeth, feigning nervousness, with a comical grimace.

"Mamma Mia is an Italian expression!''

"No way, Louise!"

"Oh, come on! It's not that bad...'' She said, smiling, starting to snap her fingers and shrugging her shoulders at you. ''Oh my, my, how can I resist you?"

''That's the worst song to teach your Italian boy... to your Italian not-a-boyfriend.'' You corrected yourself quickly.

Louise ignored you, shaking her arms lightly, like someone calling you to dance at the disco.

''Mamma Mia, does it show again!'' She continued singing, in a more sly tone than it actually was in the song. ''Come on, (Y/N)!"

"You're making me hate Italians, you know that, don't you?''

"Mamma Mia!'' She exclaimed, waiting for you to complete.

Your eyes rolled back and you gave a smile, giving in:

''My, my... I could never let you go.''

''Mamma Mia, (Y/N)! Here we go again!'' She urged, coming closer to you and snapping her fingers ''Oh my, my...''

"How can I resist you?'' You added, this time more excited.

"Mamma Mia! Does it show again!''

''My, my, just how much I've missed you?''

This time you sang together. Although distracted, Louise continued to look for the gift on her desk, without success.

''Wait, (Y/N)...'' Frustrated, she interrupted the music and looked at you, who was waiting by the door. "It's not on my desk...''

"You didn't leave it at the reception?''

"No, I already checked. Only if... oh, that bastard!''

Louise shot over to another table in the maze called HR. She was as used to that place as a librarian is used to the halls of the library. Without a care in the world, she began to rummage through a table that was not hers. Curious, you approached her to look for the name of the owner of the desk, but instead you found a bunch of things written on it like a high school student's table. The person had taken the time to carve all the lyrics of Somebody to Love; it was a lot to carve. You still had no idea who the child was who did this.

Louise stood up quickly with a small box decorated with hearts and lace, and her long hair glowed red, shaking angrily. When you looked at her, you found the nameplate on the table. Edward Avery. The man who was teasing her earlier in the kitchen.

"This is unbelievable.'' In a wistful tone, she hesitated to open the box, but had to do so to check if the seal had been broken; and she confirmed it. ''That son of a bitch.''

You peeked over Louise's shoulder, catching a glimpse of red lingerie in the box and a small note marked "Luca''. So that was her boyfriend's name? She had never mentioned his name before, because she was usually too busy complimenting his tattoos. But what was this doing on her co-worker's desk?

''So this was the gift for your boyfriend?'' You said jokingly, playing off Louise's tension. "You said he was blond, didn't you? Maybe this red lingerie will suit him.''

She didn't answer, so you watched her rub the sleeve of her blouse across her face.

"I don't believe this...'' She babbled. You couldn't see her face, but she sounded like she was about to cry.

You put a hand on her shoulder, embarrassed by your own comment, and leaned in to see her face. She was red with anger and shame. You noticed her eyes, out of sheer habit. They were tired and glazed, but clear.

"Did he... take the box and open it?'' You asked.

"I hope that's all he did...'' She said, closing the box while wiping her face one last time. "sh*t... what the hell does this guy want from me? This isn't the first time!''

You stood silently watching your friend's sudden outburst of anger. Carefully, she put the box on another table and, in contrast, threw all of Ed's things on the floor, smashing a dirty coffee cup and a bunch of the action figures that decorated the table.

She stayed like that for a long time, tossing and breaking everything in sight. In shock, you stood by, watching her impatient outburst, which at one point extended to the other tables, including the head of the department. The place was constantly clean, so much so that all the time it had a cloying smell of alcohol and bleach - perhaps cleaner than the laboratory itself -, but now the place was reduced to dust and shards of glass. As she destroyed things, she exclaimed nonsensical and disconnected babbles, things like "It's clean enough now?'' and ''You son of a bitch!''.

It was undeniable to say that you were terrified, because you had never seen Louise have a violent outburst of rage to the point of breaking up the entire department. Usually, when you looked at her, you saw exactly who she appeared to be: a twenty-two-year-old scientist who knew nothing about professionalism or corruption, totally capable of controlling her emotions. Maybe that's how it was with you too. Maybe you also looked exactly like who you were: a twenty-four-year-old scientist, bitter as a forty-five-year-old woman, and with a special inclination toward corruption and greed. Had Louise always had this uncontrolled side, or had you gradually kindled the flame in her?

No. It went much deeper than that, and you knew it when you remembered the sexual harassment report filed in the storerooms. She had told you that one of the employees had molested her in the bathroom, but did not mention any names. Then the thought occurred to you that perhaps it was Edward, judging by the assurance he always had when he teased Louise.

"Hey, hey, Louise!'' You said, feeling the impulse to grab her arm to stop her from breaking a mug with 'best boss in the world' written on it. "That's enough, you've had your revenge! They won't be able to clean up this mess anytime soon!''

Louise became very still, calmed her own breathing and looked around slowly and carefully, just moving her head.

That's when something on the floor caught the woman's attention. You watched her reach down and pick up a small crumpled pack of cigarettes that had been tossed on the floor during the whirlwind of rage. Not knowing what to say, you watched her open the box and pull out a cigarette that looked unconventional.

"That bastard Ed... Keeping weed in the office. Can you believe it, (Y/N)?'' She turned to you, and her eyes widened. "Weed! He thinks he's at his mother's house, doesn't he? Let's see what the boss will think about it...''

''You could have found the weed before you broke up the whole department, you know...''

Louise stopped, as if only now realizing what she had done, and looked around again, assessing the extent of the damage. There was still a lot of dust and broken porcelain particles floating in the air, as if someone had just kicked a sand sculpture.

''sh*t...'' She muttered, soon, despairing. ''sh*t, sh*t, sh*t!''

''Hey, hey, calm down! It's okay!''

''It's not okay, (Y/N)! sh*t, what the hell did I do?! f*ck, I don't believe it!" Louise flared up. She felt as if everything inside her was ready to go on the attack. Her nerves. Her temper. Her esophagus. ''Oh, my God... we're f*cked, (Y/N)!''

"Yes...'' You said, laughing nervously. "We're f*cked.''

There was no moon. Undeniably a good thing, but it had its disadvantages that night. The building and its annexes were in such a deep pocket of darkness that you couldn't know who or what was there, not seeing it until the light was long gone. You waited, however, for the complete darkness to turn on the hallway light and exit the HR department with Edward's box of marijuana cigarettes.

"Luca...'' You heard Louise babble to herself behind you. ''He has a good job. He's about to become manager of the restaurant he works at...''

"Manager of Sapore di Calabria?'' You asked, trying to imitate the best Italian accent you had. ''It's a very good restaurant. Can he cook?''

''Yes, he's the chef. He's got a good job, you know. Maybe I don't have to worry about that.''

You stopped in the middle of the hall and looked at her.

"Worry about what?''

"About this, (Y/N)! I just destroyed the department I work in. I won't be able to step foot in here tomorrow!''

"But you're great at what you do, you can get a job anywhere you want.''

"They'll run my name and find a report for trespassing, vandalism and depredation of private property. I wouldn't hire myself.''

"Well... yeah, you're right, it's complicated...'' You said, looking down, looking for some way to reassure your friend. "How about we take advantage of the fact that we're already here with... some marijuana?''

''What do you mean?''

"Maybe Edward won't miss us, but he'll definitely miss his cigarettes.'' You said, opening the box and pulling out one of the cigarettes, evaluating it. "See, even the silk looks special. This sure isn't just any weed, judging by how well he's hidden it.''

"How do you know?'' She asked, raising an eyebrow.

"We were all teenagers once, Louise.'' You replied defensively. "Are you going to tell me you've never been high?''

"No... I only went drinking for the first time when I was twenty-one.''

"Jesus, Louise! What are you, a nun?''

"My body is a temple, I won't put anything on it...'' She said, but glanced at the silk cigarette in your hand. "But... maybe Ed will miss those cigarettes.''

You smiled and unceremoniously held out the cigarette to her, while looking for the lighter in your pocket. Two cigarettes were lit, emanating an unpleasant and distinctive smell that reminded you in a special way of your youth and of the days you used to skip class in Anacostia Park. You wondered for a moment who would be the first person to walk into the building tomorrow morning and smell the marijuana and see the sorry state of the HR department.

Louise coughed up a few puffs, and you taught her the right way to smoke. Don't inhale too deeply, do as the instructor at the gym teaches; use the diaphragm, not the lung, if that makes any sense.

You watched her obey your instructions. Louise was glowing. The glow of a beautiful Girl Scout that reminded one of the old Saturday Evening Post covers.

The next thing you knew, you were moving from the corridor to the laboratory. Such sacrilege, you thought, smoking weed in front of an uncorrupted body. Maybe, being a passive smoker, he would start to decompose.

You leaned back on the table next to the corpse in a comradely mood and took a drag on your cigarette, waiting for Louise to approach.

"Well...'' You said, looking at the corpse. ''I think I'll have to look for a successful Italian boyfriend after tonight. Where did you find yours?''

Louise laughed, and took another drag on her cigarette, still learning how it was done.

''I was having lunch at Sapore di Calabria at a special event, and that's where I met the chef.'' She told, as if reliving the moment. ''He offered me free dessert and I thought he would do this for all the guests, but no... it was just for me.''

"And what was the dessert?''

"Zabaglione. A strange mixture of egg yolk, sugar and marsala wine. After that day I always ate lunch there, and every time I got a zabaglione. Courtesy of the chef, they said.''

"Egg yolk?'' You frowned. "Couldn't he have made a tiramisu? It would be more classic...''

"Tiramisu also has egg yolk.''

"What? Really? Why do Italians like egg yolk so much?''

"Why do you hate egg yolk so much?''

''It's weird, gooey.''

''So dating an Italian chef is out of the question. You'll need to be more original.'' She coughed. ''How about a British guy?''

''British? I'm not a big fan of beef Wellington.'' You said. "I think I'll settle for some American. Is it true that Kentucky boys are cute? Maybe I'll run away there.''

"I prefer the British.''

"You should prefer the Italian, you're dating one!''

Both were silent for a moment. Louise laughed shakily from her failed puffs until at some point she got the hang of it. For a moment, you squirmed and bumped your arm against the box of records you had left there. Unceremoniously, you picked up some of the papers to look at.

"What's this?'' Louise asked, looking over your shoulder.

''Some records Thom took from the university.''

''And talks about what?''

You answered silently with a gesture pointing at the macabre figure of the corpse beside you, in the darkness lit by small lamps.

''And what kind of records are these?'' She continued asking, as if she were a curious student.

"Letters without stamps and signatures. Apparently, some guys took advantage of a national event to collect the parts of this corpse.''

''National event?''

''Yeah. Steel Ball Run, you know? Thom is obsessed with this sh*t, he searched for records of all the letters that mentioned some corpse from September 25, 1890 to January 19, 1891. He found... hmm, let's see...'' You drummed your fingers on the pile of old pages. "Forty-three letters. One of them with a Vatican seal.''

You were silent, remembering the morning of that day. About the promotion Thom was willing to give Louise. You flinched, imagining that you should take this information to your grave now that your friend had already destroyed the entire HR department and was now smoking pot in the lab. Knowing that if she hadn't done any of this she would end up winning a nice promotion would drive her crazy and probably provoke another fit of rage that would result in the building going up in flames with all the employees inside.

''Steel Ball Run... This reminds me of The Cannonball Run.'' She said, beaming.

''Oh, please, not that movie again!''

She laughed. Not a very sober laugh.

''Oh, come on, we're Marcie and Jill! Almost literally!''

"Yeah, almost, 'cause I don't have a Lamborghini.'' You scoffed, staring at one of the leaves in your hand. ''My Cadillac has the steering wheel begging for help. I'd say driving that car feels like riding an insane horse.''

"Oh, it's a good thing I don't have a driver's license.'' She said, rambling as she laughed. ''I was traumatized by country roads after last night.''

You looked at her, trying to understand what she had said.

"When I went to get the corpse, you know. I had to negotiate with the farmer, convince him that an uncorrupted body wasn’t his property just because it was found on his farm.''

"Oh, yes.'' You laughed absentmindedly. ''And how was it?''

''Terrible. But not as terrible as it was for the team that had to pack up the corpse.''

''Thom said that there was an... accessory with the corpse. He wouldn't tell me what it was. Did you see it?''

"Oh, the crown of thorns? Yes, I saw it. It's in the same place we found it.''

"Didn't the team take it with the corpse?''

''No, they set up a makeshift tent to continue searching the area. The crown of thorns was found a few meters away from the rest of the corpse, so we are still not sure if it belongs or not. Some archaeologists said there may be more bodies in that area convinced Thom to set up part of the research department there.''

"A... crown of thorns, you said, right?''

"Yes. Strange, isn't it?''

"Very strange... This corpse was crucified, like Jesus. And he was also forced to carry a crown of thorns?''

''Evidently yes. But relax, it's impossible to be Jesus.''

"How can you be so sure? He died at the age of 33, of Middle Eastern origin, with dark hair, torture and crucifixion marks, and... a crown of thorns. That's too much of a coincidence, don't you think?''

You held back the gentle impulse to continue quoting the list of adversities, especially to say that you saw that corpse's right arm fuse to yours. She wasn't stoned enough to believe that yet.

"So Jesus Christ came to hang out in New Jersey?''

"New Jersey? Didn't they say he was here in Washington?''

"Washington in New Jersey, (Y/N).''

"And how the hell did you get this corpse in one night?''

"Seven hours of sleep thrown away, that's all. I went with a team of five people, and so did Thom.''

"You're kidding me... sh*t, just because I wanted to go there...''

"Why the hell do you want to go there?"

"It's just that... It wasn't Thom who found that corpse, Louise. I've been tracking the Devil's Palm for months, that's why we were able to find the corpse. All this... and we don't even know his identity? Alright, he was not Jesus... but then who was he? I need to know. Maybe... if I saw the place where they found him, I could find something. Besides, the Devil's Palm hasn't moved yet, and I would have the opportunity to visit it.''

''But why? I don't think it's worth it, (Y/N). Anything you find out will be Thom's credit, you know that.''

"Or not... Not if he doesn't have the corpse.''

Louise laughed and the two of you puffed your cigarettes in sync, both of you staring at the corpse.

''What the hell are you thinking?'' Louise asked, with a soft tone of concern in her voice.

You dragged your cigarette again, feeling the numbness take over your mind.

"What do you think?'' You asked her.

"What do I think of what?''

''This corpse is something much bigger than we are... I can feel it, Louise. All these months of being humiliated and underestimated for this damn corpse that I can't even get basic information about... Doesn't that make you mad? We are puppets. They used us, broke our peace, made us sick and tired in exchange for a sh*tty salary. I can barely afford to fix my car. I'm tired, Louise. I'm tired of being manipulated by a bunch of disgusting old men. If... if for one moment we could take control of this situation... have the power in our hands for once...''

''(Y/N), are you listening to yourself? You're making me worried...''

"Aren't you tired of that son of a bitch Ed, Louise? Aren't you tired of all those bastards in this company? Don't you feel like burning down the goddamn building?''

"Well...'' A shy laugh interrupted her. ''Maybe. You're right, sometimes it does make you want to burn the damn building down. But you're not thinking about that, right, (Y/N)?''

''Maybe... if we burn down this building, we would be arrested and our lives would be over. The Speedwagon company has enough money to get everything back up in a few months. But that corpse, Louise... there's only one specimen. A single specimen. They can't just buy another corpse, can they? We can hide it so we can study it ourselves and then sell it! Imagine how much money we'll make, and what Thom's face will look like when we rub our resignation letters on his desk! Or we could set fire to the corpse and...''

''Hey, hey, take it easy, (Y/N)! I understand you're angry, but we can't do this, it's wrong!''

''It's also wrong for a boss to seduce an employee twenty years younger than him.''

"You're right, but there are many other ways to take revenge.''

''But this is the best way! Maybe you're right, setting fire to the corpse or the building is too radical... we can just sell him to the Speedwagon company's competitor. Imagine how much money we could make, Louise! What do you say?''

''The competitor? Do you mean BeQuantum?''

"Maybe. We have a lot of options.''

"That... I don't know, (Y/N). Why are you proposing this to me?''

The night air was cold and foggy and you were glad you were wearing a coat. Louise stared at you, until at some point you stopped smoking, putting the cigarette out on the cold surface of the steel table.

''Because... I trust you." You said while not taking your eyes off the corpse. "By selling this corpse to another company we will have enough money to not worry about getting a job for the rest of our lives. It's right in front of us, Louise. This mummified body is like a purse with ten million dollars in the middle of the street."

Louise was silent for a while, thinking about your proposal. When suddenly, she too put out her cigarette, walked to the back and pulled out a huge plastic box covered with a sturdy black tarp, walking back to you.

"Come on." She said, resolute. "Let's take this corpse and go for a ride in New Jersey."

"You... Are you serious?" With beaming eyes, you asked.

"Absolutely f*cking sure! Let's put this in your car and go to a convenience store and buy some coffee, because it's going to be a long night!"

Chapter 3: The Way Old Friends Do

Chapter Text

''Oh, I'm so sorry, (Y/N).'' You heard Louise say, completely embarrassed, as she dried your lemonade-covered chest with a towel she found in the back seat of the car.

''It's okay.'' You said reassuringly, although you held back from slitting her throat as the drink spilled. ''There are some clothes in the trunk, can you get them for me?''

''Of course.''

Before leaving for a not-very-wise trip to New Jersey, you rushed through only what you could remember: gasoline, water, coffee, snacks, and vodka. Yes, early morning trips on deserted highways should not be watered down with vodka, but you were already stoned, so what's the worst that could happen?

Luckily, you were still prudent enough to decide to drink later. Every half hour of the trip you stopped at a gas station to go to the bathroom or to talk to an attendant at the convenience store, asking for information or recommendations for shortcuts. Without many resources, other than a map and a few coordinates, all that was left was to rely on the experience and knowledge of other people - and also on their kindness.

When you finished drying off, you took off your lime-scented, sugar-smelling clothes and waited for Louise to get new ones. Looking around, you chilled and felt a shiver run up the back of your neck. It was the perfect time and place for a horror movie chain of events to take place. The first movie that came to your mind was The Texas Chain Saw Massacre, and you felt a chill in your stomach.

Two stoned women - one of them half-naked - alone on a highway at night, surrounded by hissing eucalyptus trees. You were amazed that your car had survived eighty miles without shutting down or skidding at any time; incredibly, your steering wheel was no longer locking up either.

The forest around the highway was silent. It was hours before dawn, and the air was as still as inside a church, with an incense-like mist rising slowly from the ground. The car was making a low, steady rumble. You were just waiting for the silhouette of Leatherface to emerge from the shadows and switch on his chainsaw to dismember your body.

You suddenly saw Louise's head above the trunk and she threw some clothes at you, taking the opportunity to borrow a leather jacket.

"Really?'' You asked, looking at the satin dress you had worn to the last party you went to; it still smelled of cigarettes and booze. ''Didn't you have anything more comfortable?''

''I chose the prettiest.'' She justified, watching you put on the dress and then the jacket you were already wearing. "And I was right.''

''What's the point of looking pretty if no one will see?'' You questioned. "If there were an Italian chef here on this highway, I wouldn't complain about wearing it. But all I'm seeing is my friend, who is high and can barely hold a glass of lemonade.''

"I said I'm sorry! Can't you drive any slower?''

"Why? There aren't any other cars, it's not every day we see this highway empty...'' You looked ahead, being able to see only the small area that the car's headlight could reach; beyond that, it was a deep darkness. ''Speaking of this road... how long until we finish it?''

''Hmm... let me see...''

You both got into the car and closed the doors together. Louise unfolded the map and stared at it as she ran her hand through her hair, which reflected a coppery sheen in the interior light of the car, her eyes fixed on the paper, where the lines of the map seemed to contort like snakes, mocking you both, forked tongues waving between the names of the highways.

''We're here.'' She indicated on the map.

"Are we still in Maryland?''

''Yes, but five miles and we'll be in Delaware...'' She said, sighing with boredom, while you stepped on the gas. ''If we take the Delaware Memorial Bridge we'll be there in about two hours.''

"Two hours...'' You muttered, looking directly at the road. "And what time is it?''

"Two o'clock.''

"Geez... let's get there before dawn. Are you sleepy?''

''Not at all. And I'm not sleeping in this place either.''

"But I am. Is there any coffee left?''

"If you want we can stop at a gas station for you to rest. But yes, there's still coffee left, but it's cold.''

"Give me the coffee, we'll get to New Jersey as soon as possible. And please don't get me wet again.''

The trip continued for hours on end, with the vehicle traveling the straight and winding roads with relative ease. The surrounding landscape was constant, with small, imperceptible changes. Sometimes a luxuriant cluster of eucalyptus would be replaced by a large motel or a gas station. If you were lucky, would see a few serene streams crossing the way.

From time to time, it was possible to turn on the radio and tune in to some of the songs that were lulling the journey, providing a pleasant and relaxed atmosphere that at one point prompted Louise to sing Can't Take My Eyes of You from beginning to end. However, for much of the journey, silence reigned, interrupted only by the roar of the engine and the sound of tires against the asphalt.

Despite this, there was a sense of tranquility in the air - an expectation of peace and rest after a long trip. The weariness of the journey was palpable, but a certain excitement was also evident in you and your friend, a feeling that something new and exciting was about to happen.

It was as if the journey was only a prelude to the real goal.

The feeling of arriving at your destination was like a balm for the soul, a comfort for travelers who longed for rest and rejuvenation.

After all, no matter how long and tiring the journey is, it is the arrival at the destination that makes it all worthwhile. And with this expectation in mind, the journey continued, taking the two of you toward your next destination and what the future had in store for you.

At one point, a few minutes before reaching the place marked on the map, you passed through a street called Bulltown, with a narrow fork of gravel. You were in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by red oak and white pine trees, and at the moment your greatest fear was that you might see some ghost in the middle of the noisy road.

Luckily, however, Louise had distracted you by teaching you to sing a song that she thought was appropriate for the moment.

''Ezekiel connected dem dry bones...'' She hummed.

''Now I hear the word of the Lord.'' You added.

This time, she had sung this song long enough for you to memorize it and be able to sing along with her, both of you replacing the car radio.

''Well, your toe bone connected to your foot bone

Your foot bone connected to your heel bone

Your heel bone connected to your ankle bone

Your ankle bone connected to your leg bone

Your leg connected to your knee bone

Your knee bone connected to your thigh bone...''

You kept humming. You were barely paying attention to the road, since it was impossible that there were any other cars in the place at that time of the morning. Unless it was a serial killer intent on hiding a body - but you two wouldn't be so different from him, since you also had a corpse stashed in the back seat.

''Dem bones, dem bones, dem dry bones...''

Yes, a song very suitable for that corpse to hear.

"Now I hear the word of the Lord!'' You closed in unison, laughing.

That wasn't a very likely place for accidents; and thank goodness it wasn't, because there were no means of rescue, except for a house on an isolated farm that you couldn't help but think about how similar it was to where The Texas Chain Saw Massacre was filmed.

"There.'' Louise pointed to the little blue house with the lights off. ''It was the old man who lives there who found the body. He said he was hunting a fox when he saw it digging up an arm. Creepy, don't you think? Well... he called the fire department and a colleague of Thom's said that something strange happened near the current location of the Devil's Palm. So Thom called me and the whole research team and dragged us to this place.''

You listened attentively, oscillating between sleep and exhaustion, letting out sounds like "Hmm" and "Oh..." to show her that you were still awake.

It was impossible that there were cars there, yes. But a deer was something you hadn't thought about. The car's bright headlight illuminated the slender, terrified silhouette, paralyzed, black eyes wide open like two olives in the light. Louise exclaimed, almost screaming, and you quickly turned the wheel as if any movement in any direction would keep you from hitting the deer. The car skidded across the gravel and into the trunk of a large tree.

Lulled by the noise and the shifting, you felt yourself floating straight into the glare of headlights and the nauseating sensation of colliding with something at high speed. You closed your eyes, imagining that the windshield was shattered; but you felt nothing. Your body recoiled abruptly and your foot was unconsciously slamming on the brakes, even though you knew it was too late.

When the movement stopped, the sound of something soft breaking echoed, and you shook your head violently to clear it, but the sound of the car alarm continued. You looked away, Louise's first reflex was to open the door and throw herself out, and you did the same.

You stumbled to your feet and staggered over to where Louise was standing, both shocked and alert. The car alarm was getting louder and louder, making your teeth hurt and your head spin. Your vision began to blur but soon returned to normal.

"Louise! Are you all right?'' You inquired.

''Oh... what the...'' You heard Louise babble, panting as if she had run a marathon. ''(Y/N), what the hell is that?!''

Your lips were stiff and your hair was messy over your eyes, and you shook your head again to get a better view.

The car was intact, except for a few dents in the bodywork. You were very confused, you could tell that your field of vision contracted to a single point lit by the headlights, like a brilliant void. You could say that you felt as if you were spinning or being turned inside out. All of this was true, but none of these comparisons convey the sensation you had of total disruption, of being thrown hard against something that was not there.

That thing must be the tree, you thought. Big enough to destroy the entire front of your car; but fragile enough to break in half with the crash, letting the vehicle pass over the trunk.

''The tree...'' Louise murmured beside you. ''We hit a rotten tree?''

''I think so... Yes... that's the only explanation.'' You said.

The two of you looked at each other, paralyzed.

"Are you all right?'' Louise asked.

"Yes.'' You answered. "Are you all right?''

"My head hurts, but I'm fine.''

''Damn... that was very, very lucky. My car is intact... It even looks like a sign...''

''What do we do now?'' She asked. "Do we go to the farm or wait until morning?''

''Let's see if the car is working first.''

Still shocked, you walked over and got into the car again. It was intact, and your mind was too confused to discern what had just happened. A rotten tree? Did it even make sense? You evaluated the fallen trunk once more and saw that it really didn't make any sense. The tree was huge, worthy of a fatal accident. And if it was rotten, why was it still standing? The wood fell apart like styrofoam, that was not normal.

When you tried to back up, you felt a sudden thud and a pop behind you. Startled, you quickly looked back; of course, the corpse. More frightening than an abnormal and conveniently rotten tree, only an ancient corpse in the back seat of your car, displaying a row of dried fingers that had escaped through the gap in the sterilized box. Like a bloody horror movie, you thought, and immediately got out of the car.

''The car is intact, we can get out of here.'' You said to Louise.

"Get out of here? What are you talking about?''

''I don't know, I... I figured you wouldn't want to stay here.''

"You're kidding, right? It's four o'clock, I don't want to go back on the road now.'' She said, walking over to you with her arms crossed. "Do you want to?''

"No.''

"So what do we do now?''

"How far to the Devil's Palm?''

''We're practically at the Devil's Palm. We just need to follow that dirt road and we'll find the research team's tents.''

''We aren’t in Devil's Palm yet... I would know if we were. Do you think there are any workers in those tents?''

"I'm sure there isn't, that farmer would never let us. We could only put up the tents by paying a fee for... land lease or something like that. But sleeping? I doubt it.''

''Well... how about a hike? This road is too narrow for a car."

"That's fine with me. I don't want to get in a car again so soon.''

Satisfied with the simple fact of being alive, you patted Louise on the back while still breathing through your mouth. You shook your head, opened the back seat door of the car, and pulled the box out by its handle. As expected, the box opened and the body spilled out in a cascade of severed limbs and a sickly sweet smell of stale decomposition. Snorting and wasting no time, you gathered the arms, legs and eyes all into a small cake on the box's padded interior.

Then you took a small flashlight from the glove compartment and handed it to Louise, who promptly turned it on and started walking through the bowels of the underbrush. As she walked, she looked around for any signs of the deer responsible for the accident.

The corpse was no heavier than a child, but you never had to carry a child across gravelly terrain while wearing heels, so now you held yours in your other free hand, cursing sharp rocks.

"What do you know about the Devil's Palm?'' Louise asked after a few minutes of silent walking.

''Huh?''

"You said you could tell if we were inside the Devil's Palm. What do you know about it?''

You exasperated, looking ahead as you prepared to speak.

"I know all about it. You've been here before, haven't you? How did it feel when you stepped on the Devil's Palm?''

"I don't know, I was too sleepy to pay attention. Why?''

"Did you even see the crater?''

"Well, the crater, yes, but they didn't allow me to approach it for security reasons. And that's a good thing because I was sure to end up tripping in that.''

"Well...'' You laughed softly. ''The security measures go far beyond avoiding tripping.''

"What do you mean?''

You sighed from beside Louise, tired and sleepy.

''Many, many centuries ago, a meteorite hit the Arizona desert. Measured according to the crater, this collision generated an exceptional seismic tremor. On the Richter scale, between 7 and 8 in magnitude.''

Louise listened attentively, waiting for you to translate.

''We were talking about the crater, yes. But to talk about the crater, we need to talk about the earthquake generated by it. Every seven hours a magnitude 3.5 earthquake occurs in the Devil's Palm area, in this crater, and that makes it move.''

''You said that the meteorite fell in Arizona. So the crater moved here because of these occasional tremors?''

"Exactly.''

"Well, that's interesting... but when I asked you that, I was referring to the legends.''

"Oh, yes, that's much more interesting than the Richter scale.'' You said, shaking your head to clear your hair from your face. ''The Devil's Palm can grant mysterious powers, according to an ancient Indian legend. However, evil spirits bring a curse upon anyone who steps on that place.''

''So we are cursed?'' She interrupted, joking.

"Not yet. A few more steps and we'll be in the devil's palm... in both ways.''

She laughed, then allowed you to continue in your erudite trance.

''One day, a man went to the Devil's Palm in search of emeralds, and when he stepped on the spot, he changed completely. He became a serial killer who disemboweled his victims and drew patterns with their entrails. At the peak of his insanity, he committed suicide and became something of a myth in the Old West. Now, scientifically, this phenomenon manifests itself in abnormally different ways. Some records mention the Devil's palm as a massive area of shifting sand; others say that it is a region where the magnetic field works differently; as well as legends of sacred trees that give you golden axes.''

''Are you talking about the legend of the woodcutter?'' Louise questioned. "The one about the lying woodcutter and the god Hermes?''

"Exactly, Aesop's fable. But there's an American version, where Hermes is actually a child guardian of a hundred-year-old tree. If the woodcutter lied and said the golden axe was his, the tree's roots would wrap around his tongue, go down his throat, and rip out the greedy man's intestines.''

''Jesus, Mary and Joseph!'' She said, laughing as she made an amazed face. ''Why do we always make things so tragic?''

''We have exceptional dramaturgical talent. Hollywood proves it.'' You joked. ''Hermes was content to just leave the greedy one with no axes.''

"So you're saying that the Devil's Palm had manifested itself in the tree the child was protecting?''

"Well, I'm not the one who said that. But why not?'' You said quietly. "After all,they say that the Devil's Palm brings curses, mysterious powers, or at worst, death. And all these elements are in those legends.''

''And why were you looking for the corpse inside the Devil's Palm? Another legend?''

"No, it's quite the contrary. We have records that show an ancestral connection between the Devil's Palm and this corpse. A century ago some stranger found one of the arms in the shifting sand and imagined there were more parts scattered around.''

''Yes, scattered... And why was the corpse now complete? From the feet to the eyes, literally.''

''I don't have a clue... I've been tracking and surveying the Devil's Palm as if it were any other meteorological phenomenon, to avoid some natural disaster. Thom used my DP Tracker to finish the Ecclesiastes project. But he spent months failing, and meanwhile, I had to take care of every mummy they threw into that damn lab.''

You placidly accepted Louise's slight disinterest in your professional history, but you remained ever vigilant, ready to take advantage of the slightest expression of curiosity as an excuse to tell her all the facts known to date about the Devil's Palm and the sacred corpse. Your eyes took on the feverish gleam of a fanatical professor as Louise listened, trying to tame her hair.

''Did you know that this research on the Devil's Palm is older than it seems?'' You continued to push the subject.

"What do you mean?''

''1902. The first woman to specialize in geomorphology and be recognized for it was Lucy Steel. I don't know much about her, but she also worked for the Speedwagon Foundation to study such phenomena.''

''I've never heard of her.'' Curious, Louise continued to listen.

''Yeah, me neither. Until they put me in charge of tracking down the Devil's Palm again. They handed me a box full of old reports about this corpse and the geomorphology of the crater. All reports were signed by this woman; when I went to research more about her, I found out that she died of lung disease in 1944.''

''Poor ma’am Lucy, she died without being able to see the end of the war.''

"She seemed to be preoccupied with other things that seemed much more important than the war. Can you believe she visited Japan in 1941?''

"I'm sure she didn't visit a country involved in the war for a pleasure trip. What was she doing in Japan?''

"I have no idea. All the reports she made about that trip died with her. No heirs, no apprentices... The only thing we know is that she was no longer focused on studying the Devil's Palm.''

''She must have been like the Marie Curie of geomorphology, if that makes sense.''

"Yeah... it makes a little sense.''

You kept walking for a few more minutes. As the stories and legends of betrayal, murder and violence were retold, it seemed that the place you were in lived up to its sinister reputation. One more push and you were through the researcher's tents Louise had mentioned. After the fright you had taken at the last fork, the end of the walk in the icy dawn brought a delicious drowsiness.

When you raised your eyes, the megalithic monument stood before you both, the stone blocks stacked in the shape of curved, crude claws were almost invisible in the half-light before dawn. You stopped, motionless, fascinated, admiring, while Louise wasted no time as she opened one of the tents and stepped inside.

"Beautiful...'' You murmured, not realizing that your friend was no longer there.

You slid silently to the extreme edge of the crater, which seemed much smaller than you imagined - but you were already aware that this phenomenon was susceptible to sudden changes in relief. Your figure disappearing among the larger stone figures. They were beautiful and very strange too. You shivered, and not entirely because of the cold. If whoever lifted them was intent on impressing, they knew what they were doing.

The crater didn't look anything like a meteorite, quite the contrary; it was a smooth swoop in the center of the circle of stone claws.

Louise was back in an instant.

"Hey, (Y/N), look at this! It was in the same place they left it.'' She said from a distance holding a carefully raised object. ''That's what you wanted to see, isn't it?''

You dropped the box you were holding on the floor and looked at her and the object she was holding, recognizing it quickly and waiting for her to reach you.

"Are you sure you want to stay here, (Y/N)?'' She asked, looking at where she stepped.

"Why not?'' When she came closer, you smiled and picked up the object she was holding, careful not to hurt yourself.

''Maybe because you said that everyone who steps on this ground is destined to disgrace and death.''

"Or mysterious powers.'' You added, kneeling to open the box containing the corpse.

The object in question was the crown of thorns, dusty and properly labeled. You stuck your hand inside the box, using your touch to recognize the gentle curve of the skull and pull it out. Then you put them side by side, comparing the state of preservation.

''Mysterious powers... What do you think these mysterious powers were?'' She asked, crossing her arms and watching everything you did, illuminating it with the flashlight.

''Schizophrenia, paranoia... Hallucinations, probably.'' You mumbled without taking your eyes off the crown. ''This crown of thorns...''

"Belongs toJesus?'' She added, raising a single eyebrow in mockery. ''I thought it was in Notre Dame Cathedral, not in New Jersey.''

''Yes... It's in Notre Dame, a bunch of sticks stored in a tube made of glass and gold to be revered...'' You confirmed, then looked at her. ''This crown doesn't belong to the corpse.''

"Why?'' She asked, curious and intrigued by your conclusion.

''If he had died with the crown of thorns on his head, just like Jesus, there would be remnants of flesh or other organic matter. Besides... the crown fits the shape of the skull perfectly.''

She gave a smile, kneeling beside you.

''If it fits the skull perfectly, that means it was made for it, right?''

"Yes and no.'' You said. "It fits in the cranium, not the head.''

Louise frowned and tilted her head in confusion. This time you looked at her.

''I mean... our cranium is much smaller than our head, because we're talking about flesh and skin and hair. The crown of thorns should be a little wider, but no, it fits perfectly on the circumference of the cranium. This crown was made for a corpse, not for a living person.''

Louise's eyes widened, and you took the rest of the parts from the corpse, beginning to assemble it as if it were a simple anatomy doll.

''Do you think it was people from the last century who made this crown?'' She asked.

''Probably. Do you have any guesses why?''

"No. Do you?''

"I have a guess, but it's a little unethical.''

She was silent for a few seconds, squinting her eyes suspiciously at you. As a perfect HR employee would do.

"Say so...''

You laughed, shaking your head slightly.

''Maybe... The people who wanted this corpse also believed it belonged to Jesus... or at least they were convinced of it. Maybe the crown of thorns was something done to increase the credibility of that theory, since the corpse evidently was crucified.''

''But why would they do that?''

''Maybe for the same reason we do...to sell. To sell to the church or some millionaire foundation. The pierced hands and feet already bring the perfect biblical air to the narrative of whoever wanted to sell this corpse. The crown of thorns could be just a way to make the product more expensive."

"Well... That makes a lot of sense. Shall we do what those cowboys did?" She questioned.

"Cowboys?" Laughing, you inquired as you groped the spine.

"What else could it be? 1890, Arizona..."

"It could be some common tycoon."

"I prefer my version, cowboys are cooler.''

"Remind me not to let you deal with the BeQuantum guys when we sell the corpse.''

You stuck your hand inside the box again, looking for any other part that had been left inside; but to your surprise you felt a cold, smooth glass surface. Pulling it out, you found a bottle of vodka in your hands. Louise laughed as she saw the drink swinging

"How did that get there, (Y/N)?'' Laughing, she took the bottle and began to open it unceremoniously.

"I have no idea...'' You laughed too, but soon became serious again when you noticed that there were no more parts inside the box.

Then you looked at the corpse's cranium, with the mummified eyes just beside it. In fact, it was either an old specimen or severely weathered. The bone was smooth, with a luster that recent specimens never had, stained, and the color altered by the action of earth pigments. You carefully turned the cranium, then picked up the spinal column. The remnant of flesh still held the perfectly connected vertebrae, forming smooth, polished waves.

Even tilting the cranium sideways, it was not possible to make the light illuminate the entire cavity, and your hand slid up, then down, behind the occiput, your fingers searching the dark hole at the base of the cranium, the foramen magnum, through which all the messages from the nervous system had to pass, in and out of the active brain.

Grateful that you didn't have to deal with a jumble of vertebrae, you put the two parts together.

''Ah, your shoulder bone connected to your... neck bone...'' You hummed, arranging the vertebrae on the floor. Your fingers moved back and forth deftly between the bones, pushing and aligning them. ''Your neck bone connected to your... head bone.''

''That song really encouraged you.'' Louise said.

''Now I hear... the word of the Lord! ''You finished triumphantly, sliding your hands down the pelvic floor. Then you placed the crown of thorns on the skull, with a dignified bow to yourself and the corpse.

''A beautiful corpse.'' Louise murmured, smiling and handing you the bottle of vodka. "Now what do we do?''

You shot her a sudden look as you drank the vodka, but then leaned back over the bones.

"I don't know... let's finish this bottle.'' You drank some more and handed it to Louise, who also drank. "Louise... I need an honest opinion from someone who I'm sure will be objective. No... I take that back. I need an opinion and then, depending on the opinion, maybe a favor.''

"No problem.'' She assured you. "Especially about the opinion. My specialty, opinions.'' She reclined beside you, slipping an arm behind your shoulder and taking turns reaching for the bottle of vodka again. "Say it.''

"Am I...'' You choked, slightly embarrassed. "Am I attractive?''

Her eyes widened in sync with her smile. Louise's eyes always reminded you of mint candies, with their soft green-yellow color. Now they became completely round, increasing the resemblance.

Then they narrowed, but she didn't answer immediately. She examined you closely from head to toe.

"Why are you asking me that?" She said. "Wouldn't it be more appropriate to ask a man?''

"No.'' You assured her. "An honest, feminine answer is basically what I want.''

"Oh, right... Now that that's cleared up, I hope it has nothing to do with Thom.'' She resumed her meticulous study, narrowing her eyes wide while you stood still, erect, on your knees. ''An scientist who looks like she stepped out of a p*rn tape, with Louboutin heels and a teenage dress... You are very pretty, (Y/N). Too pretty to be dating middle-aged married men. Is that what you wanted to know?''

"Yes...'' You replied, relaxing your rigid posture. "That's exactly what I wanted to know. It's not the kind of question you can ask anyone.''

Louise frowned her lips in a silent hiss, then threw her head back and gave a loud, delighted laugh.

''Lady Louboutin...'' She called you by one of your nicknames. "You need a man! A real man!''

You felt the blood rising in your face but tried to keep your dignity, drinking some more vodka.

"I don't know. Maybe. Just maybe.''

"Maybe? For God's sake, Lady Louboutin, it's past time!''

"Please don't mock me!'' You said, handing her the bottle of vodka.

''You know I'm right. When we sell this corpse, you'll have plenty of money, and you won't need to flatter any man. By the way, what was the favor?''

''Well... I was thinking of going to a nightclub or a pub. You already go to that kind of place a lot, maybe if...''

"Yeah, I can get you some suitors. I have a lot of good-looking friends.'' She interrupted you.

"I can't argue with that...''

It was almost dawn. The mist remained close to the ground and the stones stood out clear and dark against a starry sky. The sight and sensation of being in the Devil's Palm left you with sweaty hands of apprehension, but you ignored it and continued drinking with Louise, slowly drifting off to sleep.

As the sun rose, you and Louise looked at each other, then at the corpse lying before you, and the outline of a smile played on your lips. You lay back gently and, without realizing it, fell asleep on one of the stones.

Chapter 4: Hasta Mañana

Chapter Text

You woke up the same way you did last morning, chewing dry air while trying to get rid of the horrible taste of vodka spitting on the ground.

Is today Thursday? You took a deep breath, unable to open your eyes in the bright light hitting your face. Then you turned to face the sun, and felt something hard and uncomfortable under your cheek.

Out of the corner of your eye you saw a strange round shape, then you stood up sharply and saw a mummified orbit roll across the grass like a golf ball. You exclaimed, dragging yourself away, but soon calmed down and grabbed the piece of the corpse you had left on the ground last night.

You sat up straight, cracked your neck in pain and looked around for the rest of the corpse, but there was nothing there. Then you looked around for Louise.

"Louise?" You raised your voice, but got no answer. "Louise, where are you?"

Your first coherent thought was: "She must be in one of the tents with the corpse. She was probably sleepy and forgot one of the eyes."

And your second thought was that this observation didn't mean anything, because there were no tents ahead.

You took another look around, holding one of the eyes in your stiff hand. There were no craters, no tents, no claw rocks, no corpses... The only thing beside you was an eye, your heels, and an empty bottle of vodka.

Again you struggled to stand upright, leaning on your outstretched hands. Yes, you were definitely awake. You had no idea how long you had been asleep, how long you had been lying there unconscious in the middle of the forest. Quite a long time, judging by your cold, crumpled clothes. One of your numb legs started to tingle, and you stood up to stimulate the circulation. Touching your thighs with your hand, you felt a pattern of depressions and bulges etched into the flesh. You looked down and saw that the sharp fragments of gravel had torn through most of your pantyhose.

"Louise!" You shouted louder, feeling your throat tighten. "Where the hell are you?"

Standing up, you started to feel a little better. The weakness in your arms and legs began to fade, along with the tired and torn feeling in your mind. You kept the eye of the corpse in your jacket pocket and carried the bottle of vodka with you as you walked around. Indeed, the tents that were there the night before had disappeared along with the rest of the corpse and your friend.

You couldn't tell if you really lost consciousness, but you definitely had no idea of yourself for a while, until you stumbled over a rock, sliding down the gentle hill you had climbed last night. You felt sick, dizzy and beaten, as if you had been tossed back and forth over crashing waves on a rocky beach. You fell into a thick bush, dragging yourself to an oak tree and leaning against one of them for balance.

"Louise!"

You kept calling out, but there was no answer. The whole forest looked different, the pattern of the trees was different, and even the road looked less polished. You staggered to the fork where your car was, adding it to the list of things that had disappeared, along with the rotten tree you had down last night.

Completely stunned, your slow mind began to grasp the reason: maybe you got confused and took a wrong turn when you fell.

But no, that was the same road and you were sure of it.

Then you shuddered at the next thought: Louise had woken up before you, picked up the corpse, and driven away in your car.

This was undoubtedly the most absurd thought that occurred to you for several reasons. First, Louise would never do something like this. Second, she took the corpse, your car, the tents, and the rotten tree? That didn't make any sense. And finally, third, she couldn't drive.

You kept walking, lost, occasionally feeling your temple, remembering the stories about the Devil's Palm. Schizophrenia, paranoia, hallucinations... which one were you having now? Your mind immediately imagined that you were hallucinating when you saw a column of smoke rising from the oak grove. The farm, you thought. Maybe Louise was at the farm. This thought urged you to run towards the smoke.

You went back into the forest, intending to make a wide circle around the clearing and come out on the road where you already were. However, this was more difficult than you expected. The forest looked young, dense with undergrowth that clung to your clothes. You had to advance carefully through the young, spindly trees, untangling your dress from the wild mulberry trees as you proceed.

However, your walk was interrupted by a firm hand that pulled on your arm. If it had been a snake, you would have stepped on it. He was standing so quietly among the trees that he looked like one of them and you didn't see him until his hand suddenly came up and grabbed your arm.

The other hand covered your mouth as you were dragged backward, away from the smoke. You were struggling fiercely in panic. Your captor, whoever he was, was much stronger than you. You smelled a faint floral perfume, like pot marigold cologne, and something spicy, mixed with the stronger smell of male sweat. However, when the man thought he was far enough away from the smoke, he let you out slowly.

You shook your head, getting rid of the restriction over your mouth.

"Who are you?!"

The hands released you, but the moment you turned to the man you sensed that something was wrong. It wasn't just the raw scent, but something more subtle. You stood still, motionless, feeling the hairs on the back of your neck start to stand on end.

He examined you with great interest. He had a lithe, slender, well-boned physique; well-defined facial contours, even blond eyebrows, and large blue eyes. He had blond, straight and soft hair, slightly tousled and falling to his shoulder. He also had tanned skin, though it was still pale, that showed the months, nay, years of exposure to the weather. A light golden color.

"Who the hell are you?" You asked again, feeling extremely confused.

The stranger raised his eyebrows at your question.

"Who am I? I say, who are you?" His eyes searched you slowly from head to toe, his eyebrows raised as he looked down at the thin, short dress you were wearing and lingered in a shuffling glance at your legs. You didn't understand the reason for that look, but it made you extremely nervous, and you backed up a step or two until you abruptly hit a tree.

He approached with a single cautious step, but that was enough for you to react by smashing the vodka bottle on the tree trunk and pointing the sharp shards in his direction. Startled, he stepped back for a brief moment.

"Can you tell me who the f*ck you are?" The question this time came out as a squawk that sounded frightening even to your ears.

As if he couldn't hear you, he ignored the question, glancing leisurely behind him. When he looked back at you, he motioned for you to be quiet, and this particularly startled you.

"I'm Jonathan, Jonathan Joestar. But you can call me Johnny. Now, tell me, who are you?"

"(Y/N)." You said cautiously, leaning more forcefully against the trunk of the tree behind you. The solidity of the trunk was real, and that cheered you up again. "Why don't you stop looking back?"

His eyes narrowed, his mouth constantly open in apprehension, when he looked back once more. He was ready to answer you when you heard some distant thuds that you, half stunned, identified as gunshots.

The sound of gunfire was followed by the appearance of five or six men, running like demons through the trees, hurtling toward you. You immediately dodged their view with an agility that seemed to prove you were not physically hurt, whatever your mental state.

You took off running. Your breath rumbled in your chest as you made your way through the curtain of oaks and alders, ignoring the mulberry trees, nettles, rocks, fallen trunks, and anything that stood in your way. You heard heavy footsteps behind you, but you were too terrified to look back.

You ran blindly, tree branches scratching your face and arms, ankles twisting as you stepped over holes and tripped over rocks. There was no room in your mind for any kind of rational thought; you just wanted to get out of there.

After a few seconds of running, there were no more sounds of gunshots and you completely lost track of where you were. You felt like your lungs were about to burst, aching from the effort. However, you only stopped running when something heavy hit your feet hard and you were thrown forward, falling flat on your face with a deafening thud.

A hand as massive as a rock grabbed your arm, forcing you up. You were faced again with a pair of piercing blue eyes, the man's hands clamped like a clam on your arm. He was as breathless as you were, implying that he had also been running away from the sequence of shots.

"They're not giving up any soon. This way.'' The man said, tugging at your arm, and you, stunned by the succession of recent events, obediently followed.

Your new companion made his way quickly through a curtain of alder trees, turned sharply around a large rock, and suddenly you were on a path. Overgrown with heather and gorse, and zigzagging so that it was never visible more than two meters ahead, it was still undoubtedly a path, a steep slope leading to a small clearing where a horse was grazing.

It was only at that moment that you managed to muster up enough strength and presence of mind to ask where you were going. Receiving no answer from your companion, you repeated in a louder tone.

"Where the hell are we going?!"

To your considerable surprise, he turned to you, his face contorted, and dragged you close to the horse.

"Listen carefully, I'm the one asking the questions here." He said, sternly.

Offended, you were ready to protest, and he put his hand on your mouth and pushed you against the horse's flanks.

"I need to know that you will answer my questions." He continued, looking deep into her eyes. "Will you answer my questions?"

Startled, you widened your eyes and confirmed with a frantic nod.

"Fine..." He slowly released your mouth. "First... you said your name is (Y/N), right? You will tell me exactly what you are doing here."

"I..." You gathered some breath to speak. The man's face remained uncomfortably close to yours, close enough that you could feel his breath. He was handsome, you thought, and didn't look unfriendly. However, there were tense wrinkles between his eyebrows, and he was not a face anyone would want to contradict. "I'm looking for my friend."

"Your friend?"

"Yes. Louise. Tall, red hair, green eyes, wearing a Pink Floyd t-shirt... Have you seen her?"

"Wearing what?" His face contorted in confusion, but he quickly ignored what you said. "You're the only woman I've found here."

"And who were those men behind us?"

"I'm the one asking the questions, didn't you hear me?" He said rudely, establishing a pattern you would quickly tire of.

''I get it! Can you please back off? This horse stinks!"

He analyzed your expression carefully, slowly allowing you to move away from the large animal, but still watching for any sign of escape you might show.

"Where did you come from, lady?"

"I... Ah, sh*t... it's a long story."

"I'm willing to listen."

"I just want to find my friend... I... those men might have her! Do you know who they are?"

"Yes, I know very well." He said, ignoring the rule he had set for himself. "Creed's men. I've been tracking this bastard for months, and when I finally find him, some crazy woman shows up screaming and reporting my location."

"Excuse me?" Offended by his version of this morning's events, you frowned. "Who is this Creed? Why were you tracking him?"

"Joshua Creed, gang leader wanted for robbery and murder." He said stiltedly, and you felt a sudden shortness of breath.

"Are you... Is this a joke?" You held back from laughing but smiled skewed. "You're kidding, right?"

"Why would I be kidding? You still haven't answered my question, miss."

"I..." You gasped, completely shocked. "I came from Washington. Washington D.C."

His eyebrows rose in surprise.

"And what did you come here to do, before you got lost?"

"That... is very difficult to explain. Please, sir, I need to find my friend and my car. Can you help me find the way?"

"Find your friend and what?" His head tilted forward, you were making him as confused as you were.

"My car." Stuck in rationality, you refused to believe that this man didn't know what a car was. "A gray Cadillac, I parked it near a fork last night. My friend and I had a few drinks and ended up sleeping near some tents. When I woke up, she was no longer there. I know it sounds crazy, but everything was gone... her, my car, the tents, the..." You stopped talking the moment you noticed that you were about to talk about the corpse.

"I didn't understand a single word you said. Are you sure you're okay? Did you hit your head?"

"No!" You exclaimed impatiently. "No, I didn't hit my head! I'm not crazy! You're not going to drive me crazy with this gang story and this horse and this cowboy accent!"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"How do you not know what a f*cking car is?!"

Your voice sounded uncomfortably loud enough for you to realize you were going crazy, then you shut up, looking at the man. He had a calm expression on his face but was extremely apprehensive about your behavior.

At this point, the sweat was pouring from your face after the arduous marathon you had run, and you were not willing to run away again. But at the same time, you were also unwilling to deal with this man. You could only believe that he was joking, but the serious expression on his face unbelievably scared you. You felt a sudden tightness in your throat, an urge to cry with anguish and mental exhaustion. You somehow knew that this was only the beginning.

"I don't think I can help you find your friend now." He continued calmly. "But I would never leave a lady alone here, with Creed's gang in the vicinity. They do abominable things to women."

The man's words frightened you deeply, but at the same time you felt a certain relief.

"I know a place where you will be safe. I can't take you back to your home, but I can give you shelter and food until you find your friend. But you'll have to trust me."

"Why would you help me?"

"You've got me curious, (Y/N)." He added a different intonation when he said your name. "If you trust me, I can take you to a safe place."

He nodded, indicating that if you trusted him, you would have to get on the horse. This was unbelievable, and you hesitated quickly. But what choice did you have? Looking around, there was only a dense and unrecognizable forest. You would be dead there before you could find any sign of Louise. You tried to hide your confusion and dread in the task of agreeing to let the man help you onto the horse.

Your dress was tight and strictly unsuitable for riding a horse, but luckily your coat was long enough to serve as a protective cover for your thighs. Undeniably embarrassed, you made room in the saddle for the man behind you, holding tightly to the reins. Despite the general awkwardness of the situation, you felt grateful for his willingness to help you. Without more than a faint clatter of spurs, the horse started to move, and, startled, you held onto the saddle to keep from falling off the animal.

Your new partner didn't seem to be having much difficulty, despite the limited space in the saddle. You could feel his thighs behind yours, sometimes moving and pressing to guide the horse. You clung to the edge of the small saddle and remained seated; you had ridden before, but it had been a long time and you were far from being the rider this Johnny was.

"Are you cold? You're shivering a lot." He broke the silence for a moment.

You didn't realize that you were shivering. Your confused mind was preoccupied with other things.

"No... it's just... it's nothing." You replied, trying to draw his attention away. "What's your name again? I don't remember."

"It's Jonathan, but everyone calls me Johnny or Jojo." He said quietly.

"I... may I ask you a strange question, Johnny?" You tried to keep your voice as firm as possible.

"What do you want to know?"

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-two. Why?"

"You don't know what a car is?"

"I don't think so." He answered calmly, looking at the road.

"What year were you born, Johnny?" You hesitated a little when you asked, but you had to make sure you weren't crazy.

"1870." He said, but this time he looked at you suspiciously. "May I ask why you're asking me that?"

The answer paralyzed you. You were silent for a long second, not even blinking, not even breathing.

"I want to make sure I'm not crazy..." You finally managed to unlock your throat, although your chest still ached. "You... What day is it today?"

"I'm not sure, but I think it's October 2nd." He tilted his head to look at your face. "Why would you be crazy?"

"October 2nd of what year?" You continued ignoring his questions.

"1892" Johnny didn't seem to bother answering your questions, although he was suspicious of their nature. At this point, he gave up questioning your delirium.

You were in the year of grace 1892. Obviously you didn't believe him, he was certainly playing tricks on you, but you were ready to let him down. Everything you had seen since waking up pointed to the entirely irrational conclusion that you were in the past, but that was physically impossible.

However, you remembered a paper you had done in high school on the invention of automobiles, and the date 1886 hammered into your head like a piece of information your brain refused to discard. If this was a real man from the past, then he should at least recognize the description of a car, since they already existed and were an absurdly popular invention.

"You really don't know what a car is, Johnny?" With your tongue ready and sharp enough, you prepared to contradict him.

"No, I have no clue. Can you tell me what a car is?"

"Don't you really know? A four-wheeled machine that moves by itself and..."

"Oh..." He interrupted you, his face seemed to brighten into a kind of sudden relief and understanding that gave you chills. "Are you talking about that German invention, the automobile? Are you telling me that you have one? Can women use that kind of machine?"

Okay, you were taken by surprise and had no other cards up your sleeve. But that didn't mean anything, did it? He might just be a great actor, but there was no historical authenticity in his costume. His blue printed clothes made that evident. By the way, what kind of cowboy doesn't own a holster and a revolver?

However, you couldn't question him and be any more rude than you already were, so you cautiously thought of a response that he could show understanding for.

"Yeah... it's my father's car."

"Does your father own a car?" He questioned, puzzled, but didn't seem to think you were lying. "I already knew you weren't a peasant, but then, how did your father afford a car? Is he some kind of nobleman?"

You thought about an answer for a few seconds and then you noticed that your father's profession was a relatively safe and acceptable choice for any time. A lawyer could be recognized in the 20th century as well as in the 19th.

"No. He is a lawyer." You answered, but that didn't make him any less intrigued.

"And what is a lawyer's daughter doing alone in the forest, wearing those clothes?"

"I already answered that question."

"That didn't seem like a complete answer to me. Why would you come here in an automobile with your friend?"

"You said I have to trust you, right? Then, please make it mutual. Trust me too, mister Joestar."

At first, you thought you were dreaming too vividly, but Johnny's hand grabbing your arm, rudely strong and immediately physical, dispelled that impression. You couldn't imagine dreaming you were on a horse, feeling your aching inner thighs rubbing against the saddle, which was nothing fantastical. And the sweat; yes, you were familiar enough with sweat, but you never dreamed of the smell of sweat, which you could still smell on the man behind you.

He clicked his tongue to increase the horse's speed. It seemed inconceivable, but all the evidence indicated that you were in a place where the customs, accent, and politics of wanted criminals and gangs of the late 19th century were still in force. You would have imagined it to be some kind of fantasy show, but the sound of the shots was disturbingly real.

It could be some isolated enclave from the rest of the world, perhaps, where there were still gangs and cowboys. But in New Jersey? You've never heard of this kind of thing before, have you? Scoffed the uncomfortably rational part of your mind.

Jonathan Joestar, if that is indeed his name, is a fine actor, you thought bitterly. You felt ridiculously on the verge of tears, so you stopped thinking before you started to cry.

The rest of the trip went without many incidents and the occasional questions, if you don't consider it an incident to ride 15 miles through a rough region in the morning, generally without the benefit of roads, sharing a horse with a strange man. At least you were not ambushed by road robbers, which Johnny claimed to be very common in that region. By the standards you are used to, it was a pretty dull trip.

Your destination loomed ahead, a huge two-story building made of dark wood outlined against the gray light of early afternoon. The place was no longer quiet and deserted and no longer surrounded by trees. It was similar to the gas stations where you and Louise stopped at dawn. Johnny moved to the side of the narrow road and helped you off the horse. The flow of people was entirely women, some of whom seemed to be the same age as you, and this made you a little relieved, although everyone looked in astonishment at your clothes, which they obviously considered strange.

The building itself was rough, all made of aged wood and with the same saloon feel you are used to seeing in Western movies. Two chimneys spewed smoke above the flat roof, adding to the overall gray impression.

"Where are we?" Accepting Johnny's help, you got off his horse and asked in a voice hoarse from lack of use.

"In Bastille Tavern." He answered laconically.

Bastille Tavern. Well, at least now you knew where you were. You were sure that such tranquility and rusticity didn't exist anywhere else in New Jersey in 1976. You were beginning to accept the absurd idea that you were probably somewhere in the 19th century.

"Oh, Jojo!" Shouted a young woman, comfortable in ignoring your presence. "You're early! We didn't expect to see you today."

"Yeah, well, I got lucky." He tied his horse to a post and looked at you. "Both good and bad. Could you call Madam O'Shea to prepare the food earlier? We'll need an extra meal and an extra bed.''

The woman promptly obeyed and you stood in the damp yard watching Johnny brush his horse until Madam O'Shea, whoever she was, agreed to show up. A handful of curious young women looked at you, speculating about your possible origin and function. When a sturdy, decisive woman, dressed in rustic dark brown linen, woven on a hand-loom, appeared with great fanfare and put the young women back to their respective jobs.

"Jonathan, darling!" The woman exclaimed, giving a warm welcome kiss on his cheek in a way that almost knocked him over, as a mother would. "You must be starving!"

That's when she turned to you, leaping up as if she had been bitten by a snake. She looked at you in amazement, then turned to Johnny for an explanation of your appearance.

"(Y/N)." He said, with a slight tilt of his head in your direction. "That's madam O'Shea." He added, with a tilt to the other side. "I found her near Creed's gang camp, she was lost. I couldn't leave her there."

Madam O'Shea looked you up and down with an air of wise appraisal. She concluded that you seemed quite harmless, regardless of your strange and scandalous appearance, because she smiled warmly and took you by the arm.

"Well, (Y/N), welcome. Come with me and we'll find you some clothes more... you know. More." She examined your short dress and the inadequate shoes in your hand shaking her head.

You allowed Madam O'Shea to lead you to your quarters as if you were a lost child. Your gaze wandered around the interior of the place, past the smoke-blackened fireplace, the narrow windows, and the massive oak furniture. No electrical fixtures, nothing to indicate running water or even a rug. There were only women outside and you wondered what this place was all about and what kind of relationship Johnny had with Madam O'Shea, since she seemed to treat him like a son.

The place really did look like a 19th-century tavern. But what about Louise? If you were, in fact, in the 19th century, where would she be? Would she have stayed in your time or had she traveled through the fabrics of space-time with you? By the way, what would your co-workers do when you two stopped showing up at the Speedwagon Foundation? What would they do when they miss the corpse? And again, what about Louise? Would you ever see her again? Thinking about your friend was the last straw. From the moment you woke up outside the Devil's Palm your ordinary life ceased to exist. You tried to control yourself, but your lips trembled and your eyes filled with tears.

Though rustic, the place was very pretty, and Madam O'Shea closed the door behind you as you entered what looked like the lavatory, judging by the heavy copper tub in front of you.

"Where am I?" You asked, stunned.

The woman's wrinkled cheeks rose to your face, analyzing you from head to toe.

"The real question is, where have you been in these clothes?" She replied briskly. Her voice was deep and friendly and frightening, like the bark of a sheepdog. "Come on, young lady, you need a bath. When you're clean, you can eat."

You felt like a survivor of some big air raid, as she took a pile of clothes from a closet and placed them on a small table. Accepting no protests and with a great deal of commotion, the woman made you remove your inadequate clothing, but your eyes widened when without warning she poured a cascade of cold water from the tub onto your back, making you exclaim as if you had been lashed.

"What's the matter?" In an almost reproachful tone, Madam O'Shea asked, still splashing the water on you.

"The water... is cold." You stammered.

"And how else should it be? There are no rivers of boiling water, you know."

Astonished and too embarrassed to resist, you let the woman remove all the surface layer of dirt on your body, then dried it with a clean linen towel. The woman turned, ignoring your shaky state and your lack of clothing, to rummage through what appeared to be a complete collection of toiletries available to a disheveled stranger. A few delicate bowls of French rouge porcelain, with a lid embossed with a row of golden swans.

Then Madam O'Shea bring a silk camisole and bodice, with stockings of fine, delicate fabric, unlike the torn stockings you were wearing. You were tempted to insist that you continue wearing your own clothes, just to spite yourself, but the memory of the reaction of the other women and even Johnny to your dress was enough to make you restrain yourself. At least the quality of the clothes seemed mediocre, which made them lighter and more comfortable than the blankets Madam O'Shea herself wore.

"Oh, you have very nice skin, (Y/N). How old are you, anyway?"

"Thank you, I think... I'm twenty-four."

"Twenty-four?!" Stupefied, she stopped arranging your clothes and raised her eyes to your face. "Are you sure?"

If you really were in the 19th century, this reaction would make sense. After all, many women of that time were approaching middle age by the age of twenty-four. And you, blessed with good nutrition, hygiene, and dental care, not worn down by multiple pregnancies or hours of hard manual labor, looked a lot younger than you were. Or at least healthier. You took a deep breath, pushed your hair back, and looked toward a small dressing table in front of you. There was a mirror that allowed a hazy reflection, where your face looked worryingly bloodless and your eyes wide.

"You're a fine thing, young lady." Madam O'Shea continued to chatter until the last button was fastened on your dress. "If Jojo brought you here, then there's something special about you, besides beauty. Where did you come from?"

You were too confused to answer her, but still, the woman continued to chatter, tidying up here and there, pinning up a lock of hair or fixing a bow. Finally, you were dressed to her liking and finally released from the restroom.

There was no appetite for the cakes and porridge Madam O'Shea served you and Johnny. On closer inspection, the place looked more like some sort of inn than an actual tavern, judging by the lack of customers. Although you weren't hungry, you crumbled a piece of cake and pretended to eat, to gain some time to think.

When you sat down comfortably at a small oak table, your attention was immediately drawn to a huge metal cage, cleverly constructed to fit the curve of the wall, filled with dozens of small songbirds. The birds' merry clatter was accentuated by the fluttering of wings and rustling of leaves as the inhabitants fluttered and hopped around in their surroundings.

"Jumpy little creatures, huh?" A soft, pleasant voice sounded behind you, and you turned around with a smile that froze on your face.

Now, more calmly, you were able to better analyze the face of Jonathan Joestar, who until then seemed to be the only man in the place. He had a slightly furrowed brow, giving him an air of intimidation that soon softened into something more affable, but no less vigorous.

He kept his eyes fixed on the birds, discreetly providing you with a much-needed moment to regain control of your facial features.

"Welcome, (Y/N)." He said, with a small nod, looking down at your clothes. ''Madam O'Shea was very quick to give you a few clothes."

"Yeah." You said. "She was. I've never taken a shower so fast and so cold in my life."

He raised one of his eyebrows, pulling out a chair to sit before you at the table, where his plate was already set. But a large, mature figure, perhaps even a little more wrinkled than Madam O'Shea herself entered the room.

"Jonathan." The old woman said, in a husky voice that almost convinced you to stop smoking cigarettes. "What are you doing here? I thought you weren't coming back this week."

The man looked calmly at the woman, greeting her respectfully.

"It was an... unforeseen." He answered, looking at you. "This girl's name is (Y/N), I found her near Creed's camp. She was in... ah, a difficult situation."

Johnny seemed to be suppressing a smile and you wondered at what point he had described your supposed state of nakedness to the other people in that tavern.

"I don't care who she is." The old woman said in an unfriendly way, refraining from looking at you, dismissively. "You should be in the port city, with or without Joshua Creed."

"I know that, don't worry. I still have plenty of time and I couldn't leave her alone."

"You're getting sloppy, Jonathan. Any naked whor* can distract you from your work now." She closed, leaving quietly and haughtily before you could react.

She went outside and closed the door without caring about the unstable structure of the place. You, obviously offended, frowned angrily and looked at Johnny, who looked especially embarrassed. He motioned for you to calm down and, feeling confused and belligerent, you realized that keeping calm was the only thing you could do.

"She's an old hag who killed her husband with her bitterness." Johnny said although he didn't seem truly disgusted by that woman. "You'll get used to it."

"Get used to it? No, no. I appreciate the attention, but I have to find my friend and go home." You quickly replied.

"We can discuss this after lunch." Johnny interrupted you, taking a slice of cake and dipping it into the porridge. "Aren't you hungry?"

You remembered again: keeping calm was the only thing you could do.

"No." You replied. "You said this was a tavern, right? I don't mean to sound rude... but I think I'm the only customer"

"You're a guest, so there are no customers" He answered calmly. "I have always found it too isolated here for a tavern, it functions more as an inn for travelers. But Madam Hildegarde preferred to keep the tavern image."

"Madam Hildegarde?"

"The nice lady who just left."

"Oh... I see." You said. "And you? Do you work here?"

"No, we're just old friends. I earn my living by hunting bounties, and the money left over is used for the tavern's expenses."

"Do you... hunt bounties? What do you mean?"

Somewhat confused by your unfamiliarity, he looked at you with a frown, but remained polite, imagining that you had hit your head.

"Yes. That's why we were attacked by Creed's gang. I've been playing this cat-and-mouse game for months. But don't worry, you'll be safe here."

You remained silent, wide-eyed, with no idea what to say. To avoid any trace of rudeness, you pretended to be distracted by your surroundings.

The place was closed and stuffy with smoke from the brazier. The largest window was covered with a heavy tapestry depicting the execution of Saint Sebastian. You looked up at the saint's face, his chest riddled with arrows, wondering what would make a person choose that particular decoration for a tavern.

Despite the nonchalant way it had been placed there, the heavy wool and silk upholstery blocked out most of the draft. If Bastille Tavern was a quiet place, as Johnny had said, it was also busy. The whole place seemed to spin and hum like a complex clockwork mechanism. Then, one by one, the cogs and wheels that made the establishment work would disperse at lunchtime, only to magically reappear again, each in its place.

"Why are there only women here?" You asked. "Are they all lost travelers too?"

"No." He answered dryly. "They all work for Madams Hildegarde and O'Shea in exchange for room and board. Some are... well, some are soiled doves, but only when there are customers."

"Soiled doves?"

"You know... Prostitutes."

Your eyes widened at him and any remnants of appetite that were in your stomach disappeared.

"Prostitutes? Did you bring me to a whor*house? You say I need housing for two old pimps?!" Your voice unconsciously rose as you quickly got up from your chair and faced him again. "That's why she said I was a fine thing! How dare you?!"

"Wait! It's not what you're thinking!"

"For God's sake!" You exclaimed. "I'm an archaeologist, I'm not going to prostitute myself! I don't have time for this, I have to find Louise!"

Without even giving Johnny a chance to explain himself, you looked around frantically and took off running. You didn't run, but walked as fast as you could to the front door, opening it with all your might and bumping into the old witch named Hildegarde, who gave you a brutal look. An island of contempt in a sea of astonished and curious faces.

Your hasty escape was interrupted, however, by a shrill scream coming straight from the tavern. Startled, Hildegarde pushed you way over to check what was happening the moment she recognized Madam O'Shea's voice. The women outside remained in their proper positions, quiet, not daring to follow Hildegarde. You glanced at them, one by one, noticing that they all had the faces of soiled doves; tired and worn, yet too young.

You stood there hyperventilating for a few more seconds when you heard the bathroom door open with a thud. Instinctively, you stepped back and looked to see what was happening. With conscious effort, only one of your feet did not hesitate to step into the tavern again. Johnny ran towards the screams, but stopped halfway when he saw Madame O'Shea wobbling and staggering down the short hallway, your clothes in her hands.

Your frown creased and you followed Hildegarde. You weren't sure why you were following her, but you felt a strong compulsion to do so. You weren't afraid of her; of course, there was no reason to be. At the same time, your irrational body still felt the disturbing turbulence of that day, shaking your flesh and bones, and you wanted to run away.

"Jojo!" Madam O'Shea shouted, looking more frightened than furious. "You need to see this!"

A shiver ran down your spine as the woman raised your coat to him, pulling a delicate spherical structure from one of the pockets. Probably intrigued by the stitching and style of the jacket, her curiosity made her find one of the eyes you had been keeping.

"That's..." Johnny stammered, extremely hesitant, as he picked up the eye and analyzed it, almost as intrigued as you were.

"Who the hell is this woman, Johnny? Did she kill someone? Is this some kind of sorcery?!" O'Shea remained chattering, while Hildegarde watched the scene impassively, but without blinking for a long time.

For heaven's sake, you thought, with mild disgust at the wave of ignorance you would be forced to deal with because of your carelessness. If you really were in the 19th century, then nothing you said would make sense to them. What you did was difficult to explain even to an ordinary person of your time; now, imagine it to two old ladies and a weird cowboy.

You stood there stunned, not knowing exactly whether to run or to face the situation. As if he knew you were still paralyzed there, Johnny looked straight at you, without a single sign of understanding on his face. You couldn't tell if he was shocked, scared, angry or all three. He walked briskly towards you, holding the eye in a clenched fist.

Like a stray cat, the moment he approached you your first reflex was to run. To simply run away without even bothering to breathe, but Johnny's hand on your shoulder was supernaturally faster than any of your movements, pulling you violently into the room.

"Who the hell are you?!" His voice sounded terribly furious, and his hand painfully squeezed your shoulder. The question sounded in a sufficiently interrogatory tone.

You shuddered, shocked and silent, your eyes fixed on Johnny.

"If you want to get out of here, you'll have to answer my questions!" This time, his voice sounded loud enough to rattle your nerves.

It took your desperate mind only a few seconds to get an idea of what you might say to someone who clearly didn't seem to be joking about the whole gang and brothel thing.

"I didn't kill anyone, I swear!" That was the first thing you said.

But he didn't seem satisfied with your answer, shaking you and pulling you violently closer.

"Where did you get this eye? Do you know where the other one is?"

You hesitated, letting your shoulders drop, putting aside your half-formed plans for escape. You were exhausted, but alert enough to see the resignation in the man's blue eyes. And yet it took you a few seconds to check that you heard the question correctly.

Noticing your sudden shock, Johnny glanced at Hildegarde and O'Shea, who watched in amazement, and asked them to leave. A shiver ran through your body when you found yourself alone with that man, and naturally you tried to pull away, but he grabbed you tighter.

"You know what I'm talking about, don't you? That's why you're silent." Johnny said more calmly, though with a fury of distrust. "You'd better tell me who you work for, or I'll have to make you talk."

"What? I don't work for anyone!"

"Then what the hell are you doing with that eye?"

You felt sudden tears come to your eyes and closed them tightly, to stem the flow.

"You... Do you know what this eye is?" You asked, your voice trembling.

His eyes were fixed on you. Don't be ridiculous, you thought. It's obvious he doesn't know. Your mind is playing tricks on you, (Y/N).

"Yes, I know. And I don't think you know."

The shock of the possibility being confirmed roused nerves that had been dormant for a long time, and while you might appear outwardly calm, inside your emotions were boiling with despair.

"I know. I know everything. I know all about it." You stammered, shaking your head. "I... I can't stay here. Please let me go..."

"I'm afraid that won't be possible." He said, satisfied with your answer, and forced you to sit down on a nearby chair to keep up the interrogation. "Where did you get this?"

"I... I can't say."

"Why? Are you being forced? Are you working for someone?"

"No!" You immediately retorted, wanting to eliminate all possibilities that you might end up dying today. "I just can't tell!"

"Why?!"

"Because..." You took a deep breath, rethinking your alternatives. "Because I don't remember."

The answer seemed to surprise him, but it didn't convince him. He still seemed determined to keep you captive as long as necessary.

"You don't remember?" Although calm, his voice indicated total disbelief. One of his eyebrows was raised contemptuously.

"That's what I said." You confirmed, unable to look him in the eye. "I had too much to drink with my friend last night, and then she disappeared."

"And your... 'car' too, isn't it?"

You hesitated, swallowing dryly.

"Yeah..."

"Well... if that's it, then I guess you're really oblivious to it all. A poor, lonely, drunk woman. You said you were an archeologist?" He continued questioning. "Well... I don't believe in a single word of yours."

Remember, keeping calm is the only thing you can do.

"Yes... I'm an archeologist. I study... study fossils."

"Fascinating. I knew an archeologist a long time ago." He said with a glint in his eyes that particularly terrified you. "Tell me, miss, so do you also study ancient creatures? Like dinosaurs?"

You snorted, somehow relieved and deeply enraged by a single word. Dinosaurs? How would a simple bounty hunter from the 19th century know this term? Your brain somehow lit up with blinding certainty. It was very easy for an actor to say they don't know what cars are, but to know what dinosaurs are? It was extremely unlikely for someone who lives so isolated. Your eyes lifted to his face and you let out an inevitable mocking laugh.

"Dinosaurs?" You questioned. "You know what a dinosaur is, but you don't know what a car is?"

He didn't answer, confused, but this silence only served to give you more reason.

"You're kidding me, right? You son of a bitch!" You exulted, rising to your feet in a jolt. "I must confess, you're very convincing!"

"Hey, sit in the damn chair!" He shouted, but you laughed and ignored it.

"Oh, and what are you going to do? You can stop pretending now, I know this is all a f*cking joke! You can't drive me crazy now!"

The man's face was cautious, but he didn't seem to be hiding anything. You were watching him closely and he could see the indecision floating momentarily on your face as you chose your next step. He made a movement towards you, his hands reaching around your shoulders, grabbing you too quickly to try to dodge.

"Stop trying to run away!" He said. "You work for Dio, don't you?! Answer me!"

"Let me go, you bastard!" You struggled. "You won't fool me! I'm going to..."

You were desperately writhing to get free when you heard something behind you and suddenly became immobile. Voices came and went, accompanied by the sound of heavy footsteps. It was undoubtedly the women outside and the two madams. You struggled again, trying to knee Johnny and only had time to register the fact that he wasn't actually trying to hurt, just to control you, before something hit the back of your head and everything went dark.

Chapter 5: One Man, One Woman

Chapter Text

A strong, incandescent light suddenly appeared in the darkness of a room. The windows around you were locked, as was the door. With no idea how long you had been unconscious, you didn't know exactly where you were or if this was just a nightmare, but the pain of your hands tied against the headboard was too unpleasant and too vivid to be one.

You calculated that you were unconscious for a short time, for it was still daylight; and you showed no symptoms of concussion or other side effects from the blow, other than the painful base of your skull. Your captor, a spuriously calm man, spoke something on the other side of the door before opening it; however, the figure that entered the room was one of the girls who were working outside the inn.

''Jojo had trouble explaining to Madam O'Shea what that eye in your pocket was.'' The girl said when she heard you groan. You blinked a few times, now able to see that she was carrying a silver tray with something hot; probably soup, judging by the smell. ''How are you feeling?''

Your eyes had gradually adjusted to the dimness of the room as your vision dimmed, and you could see that the room was lit only by the fire of a dangerously old lamp.

You stood up, your hands sore and clenched tightly.

''Madam Hildegarde thought it would be safer to keep you tied up.'' Said the girl as she left the tray on the nightstand, looking at you pitifully.

"Let me go.'' You stammered, struggling weakly.

"I can't.'' She replied. "I'm sorry, but I can't disobey Madam Hildegarde.''

"To hell with that old witch. Let me go, please...''

"I'm sorry, I can't do that. But I need you to eat this soup.''

"Let her go, Lizzie.'' A male voice echoed in the background, which you guessed was Johnny. "Madam Hildegarde is busy trying to find out if (Y/N) is a prostitute or not.''

You stared at him angrily with the rest of the strength you had.

"Well, they should ask her, don't you think?'' The girl you found out was called Lizzie and looked at Johnny, then at you. "Who are you, miss?''

''I'm not a prostitute.'' You answered as you jerked around to try to get loose, just like you would in a demonic possession movie. "I'm an archaeologist! That eye has existed for two thousand years, you have no idea what you're doing!''

They both looked at you as if you were some kind of hospice patient, and maybe your appearance live up to this because your hair was disheveled and only meaningless babbling came out of your mouth. Johnny, however, seemed far too calm.

''Lizzie, she doesn't look hungry. Let her go and leave us alone for a moment. Distract Madam Hildegarde, if possible.''

The girl looked at him with a clear hesitation in her gaze.

"But Jojo...''

''You heard (Y/N), she is not a prostitute. If she says she's an archaeologist, we will treat her as one. Besides, I don't support Hildegarde's drastic measures.''

You were pleased to hear this statement, however dubious its moral basis might be, but you remained a little nervous at the openly suspicious looks on both faces ahead. Lizzie promptly obeyed, untying the belts that bound your wrist and walking to the door. With a nod, Johnny thanked her and closed the door. Now, alone with that man, you had the absurd sensation of being in an interrogation or face-to-face with a kidnapper. And, although you had no idea what Johnny had in mind, he seemed quite dangerous. You bit your tongue and looked at him like a scared dog.

Johnny looked at you and crossed his arms as you sat on the edge of the bed.

"I don't know who or what you are, but I'll bet my best horse you're not a prostitute.''

You hoped, in this case, that his best horse wasn't the one you rode that morning, which from the smell barely seemed worth the bet.

''If I say I'm a prostitute, will you give me your horse and I can run away?''

''If you finally tell the truth, I'll take you back to Washington myself.''

''I don't have time to play games, I have to find my friend before I do anything else. She might be with those bastards who attacked us this morning.''

Johnny raised his eyebrows in disdain, leaning on the wall thoughtfully.

''You're not the only one who needs to find a friend.'' He said. ''By now, I should be in the port city. But you've delayed things for me.''

"Port city? Why? Weren't you after that gang?''

"Supposedly, Creed's gang is going to hold up a bank robbery in there.''

''And where does your friend come into the story?''

''That's where he'll be in a few hours.'' He clarified, calmly, and took a deep breath with an interrogative arching of his eyebrow. You held one hand in the other tightly, supporting your forearms on your knees. ''First, a lawyer's daughter, then an archaeologist... The more I think about it, the more you confuse me.''

"Can't I be both?'' You laughed with a visible lack of humor and glared at him.

"Yes, you can. But I don't believe you.''

''I'm the daughter of a lawyer and an archeologist. I'm sorry to disappoint you, but you can't unmask any lies, Sherlock Holmes.'' You sneered, paying attention to his facial expressions, already imagining that he would also know who Arthur Conan Doyle was.

He let out a humorous murmur. Now, lit only by the flame of the lamp, he looked slimmer and more muscular, golden and insinuating, a very handsome man by the standards of the time. You stood still in silence for a while, you knew he was assessing you and he knew you were thinking of possible escape routes. You could see the mysterious lines and valleys in Johnny's face, clear as a road map - but a road to what unknown destination?

What were you doing? What had you done to yourself? Chaos, that was it. In your normal life, you didn't feel like a good student, a good archaeologist, a good friend, or a good lover. And you considered all this a natural part of you, but now you were gradually being reduced to difficult, confused fragments in which your life had disintegrated. You felt like an intruder, a kind of voyeur of something ancient and powerful. You felt like you were part of something bigger than yourself.

"Is your father in Washington?''

''No. My parents are in Oklahoma.'' You said the truth without thinking about it.

He frowned, which made you wonder if Oklahoma existed back then. You didn't know the answer, but you figured that if it was a newly founded state, Johnny wouldn't feel the least bit obliged to know about it.

''I mean... they're south of Kansas. I live... with my friend in Washington.'' You corrected yourself quickly, and this time his expression lightened into understanding, looking more convinced.

"Two women living alone? May I know more about your friend?''

You didn't have much time to think, suddenly the room became too warm and stuffy.

"She's... she... I mean, her husband... She's a widow.'' You said offhand, impressed by how bad you are at lying. ''That's why we live together.''

"And what were an archeologist and a widow doing in a place like that, near a gang camp?''

''I... well, I am an archaeologist. I called her to help me with some research.''

''And... Is this your research?'' He questioned, uncrossing his arms and showing you one of the corpse's eyes. Though nervous, you looked only into Johnny's eyes, wanting to stick to whatever truth you were capable of. In doing so, you noticed that Johnny had a very delicate complexion, with long feminine lashes that made him look very young. His blue gaze lingered on your face, waiting for you to blurt out some reaction to the sight of the mummified eye.

"Yes, almost that.'' You replied dryly, rising to your feet and walking to him. "You act like you know more about this than I do.''

"That's because I do.''

"Really? And who are you, anyway? What do you know about it?'' You said, this time looking at the mummified eye.

''There are eight more parts if you don't count the other eye. Where did you get this, lady?''

Taken by surprise, you emitted a short, involuntary laugh. A brief flash of suspicion crossed Johnny's slanting blue eyes. At this point, you two were relieved of the need to maintain social niceties, so you gradually got used to each other, standing opposite each other with a space of a few inches between you and him. Both of you silently assess each other's movements and speech.

"You... how?'' You stammered, frowning in confusion. "How do you know?''

He ignored your question, his gaze was suddenly melancholy and weary as his hand closed on the delicate sphere of immeasurable ancestral energy.

"I thought this was over.'' He said, disentangling himself from something that seemed to flash in his mind and overflow in his engrossed eyes. That way, he quickly put the corpse's eye away in his pocket. ''I don't know if I should, but I'll keep this until I think about what to do. This is not my priority, not anymore.''

"Not anymore?'' You inquired, increasingly confused by such familiarity.

"I'll go to the port city today, and when I return, I can help you get back to your home, if you prefer.''

''What? No, no! That old woman said she didn't expect you back in less than a week!'' You promptly protested. "I don't have that much time, I have to find Louise! She may have been taken by that gang!''

"Then you'd better hope she has because the chances of finding her in the port city before the next robbery are great.'' He said dryly. "Redhead, tall, green eyes... Louise, isn't it? I have all the information I need. You can wish me luck.''

''Are you kidding? You can't leave me with these two witches in a brothel!''

"Lost women aren't usually so picky about lodging.''

''If you leave me here, I'll run away on my own. I'll steal one of your horses and run away.''

"Good luck to you, then. Don't forget to take a canteen and steal some food from the pantry, too.''

A certain cold humor in Johnny's eyes indicated that he was fully aware of your intentions. At the same time, he gently disagreed with continuing the conversation, walking to the door and opening it.

"Can't I go with you?!"

"No.'' He said categorically, ready to close the door.

Lost for one, lost for a thousand. You accepted his ride and now you were about to have to deal with two old brothel owners, and now you were doing everything you could to get away from this commitment. The saying traversed absurdly through your mind, leaving nothing in its wake but a jumble of incoherent alarms and a marked sense of terrible urgency. At this point, the sound of your heartbeat was loud and fast in your ears.

There was only one thing you were capable of doing at this point, and you did it.

"I was with the entire corpse!''

This phrase made him hesitate, leaving the door ajar, paralyzed in the half-light of the corridor.

"Did you hear me? I had all the parts.'' You repeated. "If Louise... if she's here... I mean, if she's been taken by the gang, she's probably with the rest of the corpse. I need to find her. You already know what this corpse is, so I'm sure it was something important to you.''

You put your hands on the door and opened it fully, feeling the startle of surprise in Johnny's eyes. Then you heard the click of wood under your feet as Johnny turned, sighing loudly, almost gasping.

Johnny was quiet for a while, both of you aware of each other's breathing, sensitive to every little movement or change in position. The Bastille Tavern was a solid construction and too quiet, but now and then footsteps and voices became faintly audible below you; a low, male laugh, or a woman's high-pitched voice, amplified in a professional flirtation. Surely it was a customer.

Johnny looked at you unsatisfied, as if you were some selfish blackmailing shrew, but very good at it.

"Where the hell did you get all the body parts?'' He questioned sternly. ''They were sealed in a bunker.''

"I told you I'm an archeologist, I can find whatever I want whenever I want.''

He snorted, looking around in disbelief at your lack of scruples.

"What guarantees that you're telling the truth?''

''Isn't that one eye enough of a guarantee? If I got an eye, it's because I've been where the rest of the corpse has been.''

"I'm sure that the corpse wasn't here, in New Jersey.''

"And you're right, it wasn't exactly here.'' You smiled, in contrast to his indignation. "But it is now, and if it isn't with Louise, then it's with this Joshua Creed.''

His mouth was closed, but it was clear that his teeth were clenched in a strong resignation.

"Okay...'' He gave in, but not at all happily. ''You can leave with me, but there will be rules. And our conversation doesn't end here.''

Johnny read the unspoken sentence on your radiant face because he said dryly:

"I'll leave in two hours, with or without you. I'll have Lizzie bring some better clothes.''

When he closed the door, you sighed as if you hadn't been breathing all day. The whole room looked like a kind of captivity with windows and a fireplace now reduced to crackling embers. You sat up in bed again, staring at the unappetizing-looking bowl of soup, and twisted your nose at the thought of Madam Hildegarde as the cook. Then you closed your eyes and took a deep breath. Two hours was too long.

In the afternoon, when the light painted the rustic walls red and gold, you pretended to be completely familiar with those clothes and customs and acted as if you weren't in despair when Lizzie opened the door with a change of clothes. She asked questions as if you were at a routine checkup. Have you been feeling nauseous? Are you drinking water? Did you eat your soup? Are these clothes a good size? Would you like me to braid your hair? And a dozen other questions made it clear that Lizzie was used to being a servant. Appreciating the concern, you said you were perfectly fine, even though you may still feel the side effects of throbbing pain and sporadic dizziness after a good blow to the head. The soup was cold and untouched, but you drank some water from a glass beside the tray before getting dressed.

Looking over, you saw your jacket on the edge of the bed. Looking through the items Lizzie had brought one by one, you noticed that the quality was not that different from the dress you were wearing. The dress was something like the clothes your grandmother wore; now, this new change of clothes was more like something your grandfather would wear if he were a rancher. A worn linen blouse and riding pants, as well as shoes a little more comfortable than your heels and the jacket you were already wearing. You appreciated the attention they gave you back your clothes, but they were not yet worthy of your sympathy. Putting on your new clothes with some ease, you left your coat last, seeking comfort in the familiar garment and preparing to try to leave that madhouse.

You tested the door a few times; wondering if Lizzie had locked it as if you were an animal in a cage, but the wood material was mediocre enough that you were able to open it with a few well-placed pulls.

The inn was strangely quiet and this made you shiver. The customer you heard on the second floor must be in one of the rooms. Without thinking much about what you were doing or intended to do, you walked outside, looking mainly for Johnny.

The man's figure was extremely distinctive amidst the worn linen skirts. Stretching with a certain curiosity and vexation, you tried to identify from a distance what the man was doing, stumbling absentmindedly, but not falling.

This is crazy, you thought when you saw him click his tongue to send a command to a horse while tightly holding the halter. Just because everything indicated that you were in another time didn't mean that you had to act as if you belonged to that time, did it?

This question could be settled later because now Johnny noticed your presence. Not being much for words, he merely motioned for you to come closer, and you readily obeyed, but with some reluctance as the figures of the horses became closer and closer and more vigorous. At that point, you noticed that it was a sort of corral with a small stable. Three young horses were jumping happily in the meadow. The other was a dark bay mare, young and shiny, who was shaking her head in protest at Johnny's commands.

He approached cautiously from the mare's side, who watched his approach with a good deal of suspicion. He placed his free arm lightly on her back, speaking softly, ready to back away if the mare opposed him. She rolled her eyes and snorted, but didn't move. Johnny looked at you and motioned for you to continue approaching.

Startled and unable to say anything, you reluctantly stepped forward again but approached at Johnny's second signal. At that very moment, the mare turned her head and saw you coming. Sensing some threat, she backed up, neighing, and turned to look directly at you, pressing Johnny against the fence. Snorting and hunching, she jumped and tried to get rid of the halter rope. Johnny rolled under the fence, out of range of the kicks. He got up with difficulty, cursing, and turned to you.

"She's not used to strange people...'' He said, tucking the cap back on his head. "You two need to get to know each other better.''

"What?'' You asked, stunned by the sequence of events.

''This is Valkyrie.'' He said, indicating his head to the mare, then doing the opposite. "Valkyrie, this is (Y/N).''

''Ah... it's a pleasure, but I'm not sure I understand...''

''Calm down, Valkyrie.'' He warned the mare, still huffing and puffing. ''(Y/N) can't hurt an ant, there's no need to worry.''

You snorted, this time in unison with the mare.

''If I'm so harmless, why did they lock me in that room and tied me to the bed?''

''You may be harmless, but you're also crazy.'' He sneered. ''Can you ride a horse, (Y/N)?''

"I've never...'' You were ready, to tell the truth immediately, but your mind was beginning to evaluate more acceptable answers for a man like Johnny. ''I mean... I don't usually ride, only when I was a child.''

''The more you talk, the more you sound like a nobleman's daughter.'' He bent down, picking up a dusty saddle that was hanging on the fence. ''Don't talk too much about your comfortable life, or I'll regret taking you to the port.''

Silently, you watched Johnny properly equip the mare, with little twitches coming from the mare's reluctance to human proximity that particularly terrified you. You leaned back with your elbows on the fence and basked in the pleasant warmth of the autumn sun. There was a curious peace about this afternoon, a sense of things quietly taking their course, without worrying about the upheaval and turmoil of human concerns. Perhaps it was the peace one always finds in the open air, away from buildings and noise. Perhaps it was the result of contact with vegetation, that serene sensation of pleasure in touching and seeing living things. Maybe it was also the relief of having a plan mapped out in your mind, however, improvised; it was better than feeling eternally out of place.

After a short nod, Johnny gave you the proper and confusing instructions to mount the mare named Valkyrie, who was wagging her tail at your presence. As you climbed into the saddle, you gradually lost interest in Johnny's instructions and comments. The man seemed to get lost in details of pedigree records and countless incomprehensible points of equine conformation, regarding hocks, withers, shoulders, and other items of anatomy, as the only points of a horse you noticed were muzzle, tail, and ears, the subtleties meant nothing to you. But at least you had some idea that Johnny was no ordinary cowboy or bounty hunter; there was something certainly professional about his lines.

Even though you weren't paying much attention to things beyond the commands about how your feet should be in the stirrups, you didn't feel absolutely out of place. The sound of his voice was as reassuring as the buzzing of bees in the heather blossoms, and slowly Valkyrie seemed to get used to your mediocre riding skills. Strangely satisfied and sleepy, you pushed aside all thoughts about the corpse, the gravity of your situation, and other disturbing ideas for those five minutes. Every day a tribulation, you thought lazily, retrieving the biblical quotation from the recesses of your memory.

It could be the cold caused by a cloud that covered the sun, or the change in Johnny's voice that woke you up a while later.

''Hmm... Well... that's good. Yeah, maybe you can ride for a few miles.''

"Where exactly are we going?''

''I'll answer your questions on the way.'' He said somewhat rudely. "And you'll answer mine.''

You shut up and remained on your horse, not knowing exactly what to do, when you saw Johnny walk calmly away and into the inn. He hadn't taught you how to get off a horse, and maybe he intended that you just stand there. So you did what was left to you: you stood there like an idiot, with an obvious lack of authority over the mare as she began to ignore your presence on the saddle and graze on the grass of the corral.

While Johnny didn't return, you looked around. Just like yesterday, the women were going about their daily business. They washed clothes the same way your grandmother told you how to do it; without automatic machines to clean and dry them. Some were watering the small garden next to the corral, and all of them seemed to act as if you were part of the landscape, ignoring you. Women, as Johnny had explained, do not have a natural appreciation of horses and so it is difficult to talk to them.

"Valkyrie...'' You muttered, looking at the relaxed ears of the mare just below. "There are so many horses here... I'm sure Johnny chose you just to make my life difficult.''

A few minutes later and Johnny still hasn't returned. You then start thinking again about the last disturbing events and conversations. Jonathan Joestar, bounty hunter, cowboy, rancher, or trainer; no matter who he was, he seemed to have full knowledge of the corpse in your possession. The corpse to which you have dedicated your life and career. How could a man like him know something so ancient? your first guess, however, was that he had contact with some archaeologist since he knew what dinosaurs were.

After a while of anxious appraisal of your current situation, you felt a chill in your stomach that was not just hunger. You put your worries aside as an unproductive line of argument when you saw Johnny leaving the door of the Bastille Tavern accompanied by the two old women. Your mind lingered on the scene ahead: Johnny's cheeks being warmly pressed together as Madam O'Shea kissed him goodbye, then waved to you.

You wondered what on earth Johnny had said to make this woman say goodbye to you without significant resentment. With relaxed hands, you took a breath and felt the stiffness in your chest and throat subside as Johnny hurriedly approached, not answering many questions, but allowing you to watch him organize the bags and fasten them to Valkyrie's saddle. So, you noted with a little more joy, yes, you had plenty of cake. As well as huge amounts of grease, bacon, cheese, and cereal.

You and he should leave; it was already two o'clock and the air was getting strangely cold. Johnny dried his sweaty eyelids, mounted his horse, and clicked his tongue to make his horse march without bothering to wait for you. Slightly stunned, you repeated his movements and managed to make Valkyrie trot; although, somehow, the mare was in a kind of automatic mode as she walked alongside Johnny.

Johnny was remarkably serious and of few words, and no one would consider him a suitable companion for a trip.

''Can you talk to me now?'' You asked, raising your voice to stand out against the sound of the horses' hooves.

"What makes you think you couldn't talk to me?''

"Well... you wouldn't answer me...''

"What do you want to know?''

"How long will it take us to get to the port?''

"An hour or two, maybe. Don't worry, we'll find your friend, dead or alive.''

"Oh... how reassuring.'' You said in a sarcastic tone, rolling your eyes.

''You think your friend is with the corpse? Is that why you're so desperate to find her?''

Slightly offended by the question, you looked at him, blinking a few times while frowning incredulously.

''What? No! To hell with the corpse, all that matters is if she's okay!"

"But you think she's with the rest of the corpse, don't you?''

"Well, yes... that's the most logical explanation. We slept with the entire corpse in front of us, and when I woke up there was only the eye, so...''

"So she took the corpse?''

"I don't know! I only know that she would never steal the corpse, and besides...'' It wouldn't even be possible at this time, you said in your head, feeling Johnny's curious look. "My turn to ask questions.''

"Then ask away. ''

"You were making fun of me when you chose this mare, weren't you? I mean, she even pressed you against the fence.'' You said. "You seem to know a lot about horses, and you got beaten by this mare. Imagine what she could do to me!''

He was silent for a few seconds, then looked at you.

"Has she done something to you?''

"What? No, but...''

"Then she won't do anything.'' He interrupted you.

"But you still haven't answered my question. Why this mare?''

''She... belongs to an old friend.''

"Old friend? Is it by any chance the same friend we are going to meet?''

He didn't answer, and that particularly annoyed you. Looking at the vastness of the surrounding forest, the trees obscured your view of the sky frighteningly. Taking advantage of your momentary inattention, a moth swooped in close to your left ear. You let out a high-pitched scream and dodged to the side, and Valkyrie, startled by the sudden movement, swerved sharply.

''Calmati!'' Johnny launched himself to the side to grab the reins from your hands. Better trained than your mount, his horse neighed, but accommodated the maneuver, just twitching its ears in a complacent, arrogant way.

Johnny tucked his knees into the sides of his horse, pulling yours to a stop beside him.

''Well...'' He said, his eyes narrowed following the zigzagging flight of the moth, which was flapping its wings defiantly. ''If you want her to like you, you can't shout at her. Imagine how unpleasant it would be to have someone screaming on your back.''

"What...'' You stammered, confused. "What did you say?''

He frowned but didn't hesitate to repeat.

"Horses don't like screams, do you...''

''No, no! What you said before.'' You clarified. "You shouted something at her, what was it?''

"Oh...'' Slightly puzzled, your face quickly relaxed. ''Calmati?''

''That... is it Italian?''

''Yes. Valkyrie only obeys commands in Italian.''

''Ah... that makes sense. So it's a horse that only speaks Italian?"

"She doesn't speak Italian. She only understands commands in Italian."

"Oh, come on, you get it!''

He smiled a little at your expression, tilting his head and looking back at the road. You pressed your lips together and didn't look at him, focusing on the road as well.

You didn't want to pursue the corpse's eye story any further, so you stayed put. Other considerations aside, any conversation or discussion might lead a little too close to the dangerous territories of your time and Johnny's interrogations. Now, your mission was to pretend that your only goal was to find your friend and get back to Washington, although deep down a wave of despair ran down your spine every time you let the rational side of your brain dominate your thoughts. You still couldn't believe you were in the past, it was absurd. But, like it or not, you could only confirm this by arriving in the port city. By the way, which city would that be?

''Where are we going, specifically?'' You asked, this time looking at him.

''Tuckertown.'' He answered promptly.

It didn't seem to be a very big or popular town, although you had heard of it. You had no recollection of any legends or tales of the Old West set in this place, so the only idea you had was based on postcards and television shows.

Now at least you had a slightly clearer idea of where you were going. To some beach. Well, that was obvious. You stretched your legs, feeling Valkyrie's unsteady gait, taking a swing. Your head hurt a lot, one of your eyes was twitching, and your mouth was so dry you could hardly swallow. The new clothes were comfortable, but you felt like you needed a shower, and you also really needed to smoke.

You groped about in your jacket's pocket, finding a small box and pulling it out. Somehow, Madam O'Shea didn't reach for the Dunhill cigarettes in your pocket. Opening the carton with one hand, you found yourself mildly surprised that your lucky cigarette was no longer there. Did you smoke it? Was the universe toying with you? Some small details were disturbing enough that even rational thoughts couldn't calm you down. It brought back the taste of vodka and tobacco, and with it the full recollection of the previous day and night. Doritos and vodka. Stops at gas stations. Louise. Exhaustion takes complete control of your body.

Memories were almost full. You held the cigarette case and sat still for a moment, trying to decide if you were sure that the Devil's Palm had disappeared along with your friend and the corpse. Certainly yes. Even the hypothesis that a gang had taken Louise didn't make sense; she at least would have screamed enough to wake you up. That is if she were alive, you thought, then shuddered and shook off those thoughts. This must be a bit of a nightmare, lingering in your mind. And then there was the terrible feeling of doomed certainty that descended like a curtain over your mind, suffocating you with disbelief.

You took a deep breath, not knowing how long you had been panting as you are now. In one agile movement, you put a cigarette between your lips and looked for your lighter, not finding it.

"What are you doing?'' Johnny asked, making you shrink and look at him.

"I lost my lighter.'' You said, taking the unlit cigarette out of your mouth. "Do you have one?"

Johnny's answer came with a frown of incomprehension. You snorted.

"I mean... matches. Do you have any?'' You corrected yourself.

"Oh, yes, I do.'' His eyebrows relaxed immediately and he reached into his blue pants pocket, which was one reason you couldn't believe that this man was an authentic 19th-century American.

He scratched the match on the side of the box, lit a small flame and held it out to you. In an atmosphere of gratitude and camaraderie, you leaned over, putting the cigarette back to your lips and touching the tip of the flame. When the cigarette was properly lit, you blew the smoke out your nose to keep the smell from permeating your body and thanked him. He nodded with an imperceptible smile on his face, extinguished the match, and discarded it.

"Don't you want some?'' You offered, holding out the box.

"I don't smoke.'' He politely declined, staring at the box. "Are these your father's cigarettes?''

"What? No.'' You replied with a disbelieving laugh. "They're my cigarettes. I'm a grown woman, you know.''

"I've never seen that brand before. Dunhill? They seem too expensive for an archaeologist.''

''It's... a European brand. Louise's husband only bought that kind.''

"You said she's a widow, right? Can you tell me who her husband was?"

You had to think fast, but nothing but the truth crossed your mind.

"Luca.'' You answered immediately. But what else? What was his last name?

''Luca?'' He repeated, hoping for a last name.

What kind of last name would an Italian have? Come on, (Y/N), think of some damn Italian, anyone.

The only movie with memorable Italians that you have seen is The Godfather. At first, Don Corleone crossed your mind, but it seemed too ridiculous even for a mere 19th-century American. Besides, Louise wouldn't stand to be called "Madam Corleone" for long. It was then that a brief glimpse of the cast crossed your mind.

Although Corleone was not a common name, Marlon Brando was somewhat more convincing. Besides, Louise would be pleased to be considered a handsome actor's wife. Luca Brando sounded like an authentic Italian.

"Luca... Brando.''

Johnny stared at you. Fixed in your eyes. Cold as ice and with an iron grip on his temples. You felt a shiver run through your body at that look. He breathed heavily for a moment, then shook his head abruptly.

"Brando?''

Your mouth refused to open, now looking much drier than before. Your stiff hands slightly bent the cigarette between your fingers. Then you confirmed with a shaky nod. Even though you knew he had no proof that you were lying, that look was frightening.

"Luca Brando?'' He kept repeating it, almost without blinking, as if he expected you to assume once and for all that you were lying.

But you just confirmed it again

"Are you sure?''

Taken by surprise, you emitted a short, involuntary laugh, certainly terrified.

''Of course. Why wouldn't I be sure?''

"Your widowed friend was married to a man named Luca Brando, and came to live with you, an archaeologist?'' You saw his eyebrow raise in disbelief, but he seemed somehow too surprised by that name.

"Yes, that's what I said.''

"And you lived in the Washington District, came to New Jersey and lost an automobile?'' He continued questioning, making you regret not joining the drama club in high school. At least you would have known how to act, and you wouldn't be in as much trouble as you are now. ''And to bring to a perfect end, you were with the holy corpse?''

''Ah... yeah?''

''Lady... it would be much easier to tell the truth at once.'' He said mockingly. ''I don't believe a single word you say.''

In a way, you were offended. Yes, he was more than right not to believe you. You were a liar, but you couldn't help being offended.

''What the hell are you talking about? I'm telling you the truth and you're going to have to trust me anyway, if you want the corpse!'' You objected. "And what's your deal, anyway? What do you know about this corpse? How do you know? How did you know that the corpse was in a bunker? Who the hell told you that?''

You kept your eyes firmly on Johnny, desperately trying to steal from him the authority of the interrogation. You had learned once in a movie that there were rules for facing an interrogation. A basic principle, as far as you could remember, was to stick to the truth as far as humanly possible, changing only those details that had to be kept secret. Less chance of slipping into the less important aspects of the invented story. Well, you would have to see how effective Luca Brando would be, and in the meantime, taking control of the situation became a priority.

He looked at you reassuringly. He didn't believe you, had no confidence in you, but he didn't see you as a threat either. You felt in that look the purest and most inviolate interest. The choices Johnny was making about you were clearly driven by curiosity and boredom; feelings that were dangerously succinct and short-lived.

''I'm going to ask you a question.'' He said. "Depending on your answer, I'll answer yours.''

"What do you want to know? I thought you wouldn't believe a word I said.''

''It wouldn't make sense to lie to a question like that.'' Johnny explained, nudging his horse with his heels to move a little faster, and Valkyrie kept up with the speed without any command from you. ''When did you learn about the corpse?''

You took a few seconds to calculate. Trying to make the dates of your time harmonize with those of 1892. The first time Thom had talked about the corpse was ten months ago. However, now it would be in 83 years from now.

The great information you had was enough for you to be able to form a plausible theory about how Johnny knew about the corpse, but your mind was in a state of extreme confusion and would never work that well. However, at least the rational side of your thoughts was still waking up, making scattered speculations about the infamous Steel Ball Run, which would have occurred exactly two years ago.

''It's been ten months, I guess.''

"I see...''

''Are you wondering if I started looking for the corpse after the Steel Ball Run?''

For a moment, his face changed with a soft look of surprise and satisfaction. For the first time, you seemed to be being consistent with him.

"Exactly.'' He confirmed. "How did you guess?''

''I... a friend of mine told me a lot about this race. We read some letters here and there, and then we found the corpse.''

"Another friend? I thought you were alone with your widowed friend.''

''I am. It's a long story.'' You quickly tried to think of another subject. "Speaking of friends... who are we going to meet at the port?''

"I believe I have already answered that question.''

You sighed. Johnny was able to hide his thoughts and transform himself into a stone statue as he pleased. That was the most remarkable attribute about him so far, besides his frightening skepticism.

''Why don't you tell me more about him? Is he a gangster? A wanted man?''

"No more. I see no reason to talk about him when you can just meet him.'' He replied, sounding a bit oblivious to the suspicions he had about you. ''What about your friend? Can you tell me more about her?''

''Maybe...''

Having a decent conversation with Johnny would be a good thing for a trip that promised to be long and tiring. As you approached your destination, you felt a growing chill in your stomach as you noticed the crudeness or complete absence of modern civilization or even sanitary facilities in the shacks and other buildings that crossed your path.

The penetrating smell of vegetation made your throat burn. You had been on similar roads before. But then the fragrance of the brush and the oaks was diluted by the smell of the gasoline fumes from the roads, and the voices of travelers replaced the blue jays' songs. The last time you had passed through such trails, the ground was covered with sandwich wrappers and cigarette butts instead of flowers and blueberry bushes. Sandwich wrappers seemed a very reasonable price to pay for such blessings of civilization as cars and telephones, but for the moment you were willing to settle for blueberry bushes. You badly needed some peace, and there was peace there.

''You know... before I got lost, I remember a song she taught me.'' You said, making Johnny nod curiously. ''She saw me cleaning and organizing the corpse's parts and thought it would be appropriate.''

Although he didn't seem as relaxed as you, he kept listening.

''Ezekiel connected dem dry bones... That was the music, and then we said: well, your toe bone connected to your foot bone... and it went like this through all the bones of the human body.'' You smiled, humming. ''Dem bones, dem bones, dem dry bones...''

Johnny was silent for a few seconds as if to embarrass you. He assessed you and your modern music for a moment, then took a deep breath and tried to get in harmony with your mood.

''It's good music, your friend has good taste.'' He said diplomatically. ''My friend used to sing songs too.''

He was a taciturn man and there was no doubt about that, but the small hint of the beginning of a decent conversation renewed your energy.

''Really? What kind of songs?''

"Well... his favorite one was about pizza.''

You laughed, slightly surprised. He was serious, so you diplomatically turned your laughter into a coughing fit, letting him finish.

''Pizza? Can I listen?''

''Oh, he's a much better singer than I am.'' He hesitated but gave in. ''It was something like... Pizza mozzarella, rella, rella, rella...''

''Rella, rella, rella?''

''Yes. And it had the second part: pizza gorgonzola, zola, zola, zola...''

''That's... different. It's fun, I like it.'' You said, intrigued by the way Johnny chose to pronounce the words. ''Pizza mozzarella... is your friend Italian?''

''Well, I think that should be clear by now.''

''Louise had a special song for Italians.'' You commented, smiling at the memory. ''She used to sing for... her husband. He was also Italian.''

"So she can speak Italian?''

"No, no.'' You laughed. "Not at all. The song is called Mamma Mia, and this is the only Italian part.''

''Oh...'' He snorted. ''Well, maybe you can teach me to sing this song to welcome my friend.''

At the beginning of the conversation, you were shy and awkward, but Johnny was no stone statue, no matter how unstable your relationship with him was. He nodded at your comment, letting you analyze him further. Unlike what you imagined of most men at that time, Johnny always seemed to keep a clean shave, with soft, flushed skin framing his mouth, accentuating his plump lower lip.

You were cautious, not acting the way you would with your friends from 1976 and also not referring to any 20th-century comforts in a casual way. So the conversation turned to general matters, as Johnny presented you with brief descriptions of who his pizza-loving friend was. Your attention shifted slightly as you felt the heavy coastal air, feeling slightly tormented by the doubt of whether or not you were going in the right direction. Although it was better than being stuck in that inn, traveling with Johnny to Tuckertown was terrifying, and the farther you got from Washington, the more dependent you were on that man. At least until you find Louise.

Chapter 6: The Best Is Yet To Come

Chapter Text

The day was sunny; a rare occurrence that week, according to Johnny, and you tried to make the most of it, lifting your face to receive the warmth and the refreshing wind humming in your ear.

The ride went on without a hitch, but your legs hurt terribly after two hours of riding, and it wasn't long before nightfall. You had become so tired from the horseback ride that you had not done much more than simply follow Johnny when youreached Tuckertown. If you were driving, this trip wouldn't take more than twenty minutes.

Everything indicated that a moonless night would fall in a few hours, a discouraging fact under the circ*mstances, but what really disturbed you was this place. When you got off the horse in sync with Johnny, you raised your eyes and almost lost your breath, amazed. The town was simple and horses had replaced all the means of transportation you were used to, and there was no light in that town to veil the sky. At first, you thought that this was not Tuckertown, until you were broken by the sight of a huge wooden sign that said otherwise.

Then you stopped suddenly, feeling much colder than the coolness of the afternoon warranted. That city had no lights, no vehicles, and no paved streets. The salt and earth breeze brought the overwhelming sensation of being far from home. The inhabitants, unlike your new traveling partner, dressed in accordance with their times and occupations: soberly, sometimes elegantly, sometimes dirtily.

Noticing your hesitation, Johnny looked over your shoulder, gave you an apathetic smile and made you walk again. In silence, he led you and the horses to a part of town where there were an exorbitant number of fishing boats surrounding a single majestic ship. The first thing that your eyes caught was the bucolic feel of the place; the sooty stones and the ragged men rolling barrels back and forth like worker ants. They banged against each other, like pebbles hit by waves on the beach, hurting each other and sometimes hurting some unlucky person who got in the way. The cloying smell of fish penetrated your nostrils in a way you never had before.

Despite the agitation, you could see the white lines of the breaking waves moving rhythmically on the small half-moon of the beach. It was far from being a placid tourist beach, with small pockets of sand sprawled disorderly, filling and emptying with the churning foam, among mounds of seaweed, gravel and jagged ledges of jagged rocks. A difficult place for men carrying barrels to traverse, but inconveniently full of them.

"Is that the ship?'' You asked Johnny, looking at the majestic, megalithic figure.

He stood there staring at the ship, the wind blowing cold in his face. Your nose and lips soon went numb and you saw Johnny take off his cap to avoid being blown away by the breeze. His hair, blond as straw but silky as satin, fluttered loosely in front of you. You felt a heavy and difficult breath collect in your throat again, losing focus for a few minutes as you saw Johnny's imposing figure calm and still in front of the ship. His pupils retracted by the light and his eyes glued to the sight like a child at the movies.

You crossed your arms, curious about everything you saw. First, you wondered what kind of port that was, where there was only one ship. All the ports you had visited in your century were bustling with transatlantic ships, carrying artists and various other members of the elite. This one didn't look much different from the ones you were used to seeing in your period movies–nothing like the Titanic, obviously – but why would the captain choose to dock in a town like Tuckertown?

The staff, small, pudgy figures quite distinct from the crowd, were preparing to go down the ramp for the crew. For a second, you tried to guess who the man you were waiting for was.

"Are they going ashore?'' You asked again, without much hope of receiving an answer.

"No.'' He answered calmly. ''Until they check all the passports, it will take more than half an hour.''

You snorted impatiently.

''Half an hour is long enough for us to look for my friend. Or do you intend to stand there like a statue?''

''I'm looking for him in the crowd, that's all.''

''The ship is more crowded than the Carpathia after the big wreck. You at least know that your friend is here, I wish I could be that sure!''

Slightly annoyed, Johnny took a deep breath and compressed his lips, looking down, and then looking at you. His mind dismissed the first sentence you said the moment he saw that it was just another one of your nonsense lines, and then an irritating wave of understanding came over him.

"Alright.'' He said, giving in in a strangely easy way. "And how do you intend to find your friend?''

''I don't know... by asking the locals for information?''

''Not a bad idea, but far from the best.''

"And what do you suggest, smartass?''

"Nothing, the friend is yours. Let's go to the saloon, I have a friend who can help.''

Johnny shook his head slightly and walked away quietly; he was right about the responsibility you two had to your respective friends. You followed him, seeing his sharp, dark silhouette against the slightly lighter horizon behind him.

Tense, you took a deep breath, held it for a moment, then released it. You smelled various odors, including rotting seaweed, the thick smell of burning oil, and the penetrating residual odor of the streets. Even farther away from the beaches, a few men crossed your path carrying heavy barrels to the quay. Some bumped into you, and this bothered you as much as the smell of sweat.

"What are these barrels they're carrying?''

"Cognac.'' Johnny answered. "Or rum.''

"The demand is that high?''

''Surely, the sailors and passengers need a lot of alcohol to last that long on the high seas.''

You gave a short laugh, with a hint of irony.

"On the ship I boarded, alcoholic beverages were forbidden to the crew.''

" Have you been on a ship?''

''Yes. Well... it was a kind of cruise.''

''Cruise?''

''Yes... You know... Ships with little parties.''

Johnny snorted with a smile, incredulous, and remained silent. He placed his withered hand gently on his hip as he found himself in front of the place he was looking for.

Tuckertown, though small, was large enough to boast a tavern with two or three tables and several stools. It served rather indigestible lunches of salted meat and turnips and an endless supply of beer and whiskey. Johnny pointed to the door of the tavern, almost empty at that hour. A sleepy barman welcomed you and cleared the counter where a few customers were sitting.

The owner of the establishment, a guy with a bad face, was sitting at one of the tables with his face hidden by a large newspaper. Two women were sitting on stools that stretched along the walls. Here and there you could see a man in a well-kept fisherman's outfit, but most of the patrons with homes to return were working at this hour; the tavern housed a mix of sailors, wharf rats, laborers, and apprentices, with one or another drunkard lying on the sidewalk.

A few heads went up when you entered and curious whispers were heard. Ignoring this, you continued to follow Johnny as he walked toward the owner of the establishment. Noticing the commotion next to him, the man put down the newspaper and looked at Johnny. A pair of beady eyes widened under thick eyebrows.

"Joe Kid?'' He inquired, standing up in surprise. ''What the hell are you doing here, young man?''

"Same as everyone else on the pier.'' He replied with a high tone of good humor in his voice. ''I'm waiting for a friend.''

"Oh, yes, of course! Make yourself at home, Joe Kid. And who's the girl?''

You were ready to greet him, but Johnny thought it appropriate to speak for you.

"She's just a friend. (Y/N).''

The man's answer followed a mischievous smile and a wise judgmental look at you.

"Well, welcome, miss.'' He said, and you smiled. "I'll have Margaret prepare a nice meal for you both!''

You saw on Johnny's face his willingness to refuse a meal. But you preferred to stay put, slightly intimidated by the unsanitary miasma of the 19th century, the stench of so many men unaccustomed to bathing in a small enclosed space was almost unbearable.

''Actually, Mister Grey... we won't be here long, but I need a favor.''

"I see... and what do you need?''

"We're looking for her friend. The two of them got lost from each other last night, and she likely came through here. What was her name?'' Johnny said, nodding his head in your direction.

"Louise.'' You answered. ''She's tall, ginger, has green eyes... maybe she's wearing strange clothes and talking nonsense.''

''Just like you.'' Johnny commented sarcastically, then directed his gaze at Mister Grey. "Have you seen anyone like that around here?''

The man's gaze rose to the corner of the ceiling, thoughtful, and with a soft murmur that could serve as an anchor for some memory trapped in his subconscious.

''Well... redhead, tall... No, I didn't see it.'' He replied, and his shoulders relaxed in frustration. "But I heard the trapper say that a crazy woman was yelling nonsense in an alley. If you think that fits the profile of your friend, then it may be her.''

"Well... maybe.'' You muttered, not very excited by the new information. "But if you see Louise, can you tell we're looking for her?''

''Of course. Your name is (Y/N), right? I'll remember that.''

"Yes, exactly.'' You confirmed. "And... ah... if you're not sure it's her, please ask her if she knows a man named Mick Jagger.''

"Mick Jagger?'' The man questioned, but didn't seem to be as interested in this as Johnny. ''Well, alright, I'll tell that to the merchants around here.''

''Oh, thank you so much!''

''Yes. Thank you very much, Mister Grey.'' Johnny said, giving a brief nod and indicating the exit to you. ''I assure you that I will repay you.''

''It's always a pleasure.'' The man smiled. ''And, uh... one more thing, Joe Kid. Maybe this can help you to repay me.''

"What?''

''I heard that Joshua Creed is in town, hiding out.''Mister Grey said, whispering, but in a voice deep enough for you to hear. ''I know you have a feud with him, so I thought it would be good to warn you. There's a great place to bet on the third floor of the gunsmith building, and the second floor is vacant, a perfect hiding place for rats.''

Johnny was silent, analyzing the information for a few seconds. His shapely blond eyebrows knitted together in a heavy countenance, his fists slightly clenched.

"Right.'' He answered, his voice sounding firmer as he guided you back to the door. "Thank you again, Mister Grey.''

He led you out, his hands firmly behind your back. You waited until the tavern door closed behind you, then turned away from his hand and spun on your heels to question him.

"Is the gang in the gunsmith? They may have brought Louise, that explains the screams the trapper heard!''

''Yes. It's possible.''

''And what are we waiting for? Let's go over there!''

"No.''

You took a few seconds to answer, swallowing dryly and confused. Your frown creased and your head tilted, for a moment you forgot how cautious you needed to be.

"What?''

"I said no.'' He repeated. "Are you crazy, woman? You won't be able to find your friend if one of the Creeds cuts your throat.''

"But... she might be here! We can't waste any time!''

"And we're not wasting any time. The assault is planned for dawn. If they have your friend, then they intend to use her as a hostage, and for that she needs to be alive at least until the first safe explodes.''

Your face had become completely bloodless, your lips looking pale as a skull in the sunlight. You took a deep breath and looked down, in a feeble attempt to regain your usual self-control. Your lips tightened tightly, then relaxed.

''The ship's passengers should be disembarking by now. Let's find my friend, and then we'll decide what to do, okay?'' Johnny continued, putting a hand on her shoulder, unconsciously encouraging you to walk beside him. ''And please don't let him know you rode on Valkyrie.''

The walk wasn't long, and Johnny opted to wait at the pier. Without many options of what to do or places to go, you just sat on a barrel and watched him. Despite the general atmosphere of discomfort and danger, you felt a little calmer for having company, which would soon increase with the arrival of Johnny's friend. Realizing there was little you could do not to get bored, you settled down and abandoned yourself to the momentary pleasure of feeling the sea breeze.

Despite his nervousness, Johnny moved with the sure grace of a swordsman, a man so conscious of his body that he was able to forget it completely. The men standing by the barrels worked under the sunlight, which flickered in Johnny's blond hair when he turned around, illuminating him like a cat's fur.

''Mick Jagger... Is a friend of yours?'' He asked, and you took a few seconds to answer. ''You mentioned someone named Mick Jagger in the tavern.''

"Ah... Yes, I think so. It's a name that only Louise and I will recognize here.'' You replied, smiling. ''Can I ask you a question?''

''Sure.''

''Why can't your friend know that I rode on his horse?''

You noticed the slight twitch of two fingers of his right hand against the fabric of his pants and felt a strange sense of amenity in the gesture.

''He's a bit superstitious...'' Johnny said, trying hard not to sound unkind. ''But he's a good man. You'll like him.''

''If you say so... What's his name, by the way?''

"Gyro.'' He answered. "Gyro Zeppeli.''

The first time, that name went unnoticed, but the last name stunningly hammered into your mind. Your eyes met Johnny's and your face changed from alarm to recognition. With a raised eyebrow and a slightly ironic shrug, he assessed your silence.

"What? Have you heard that name before?''

You took a moment to answer. A slight memory of a joke about a rock band with your boss was enough to pull up an overwhelming amount of information that your brain had kept dormant for security reasons. The Vatican-stamped letter Thom found, with beautiful handwriting, was one of the pieces of evidence that the Ecclesiastes project was about the search for a truly uncorrupted body. In it, the recipient was a Zeppeli. You weren't absolutely sure if his name was Gyro, but you knew it was a Zeppeli. A firstborn son of a doctor, using a false identity on another continent; but in the chronological order of things, this would have happened in 1890. At what point did that man leave America

''(Y/N)?'' Johnny's voice sounded clearer and helped bring you out of your erudite trance.

"Yeah... maybe I've heard that name before.'' You answered, albeit late. ''How long has it been since you two have seen each other?''

"A little over a year.''

"A year? And where has he been for so long?''

"In his home country, dealing with family matters.'' He nodded his head back to look at the landing ramp. ''He sent me a few letters during that time.''

A nice romance, you thought, wondering what kind of connection Johnny and Gyro had.

"How did you two meet?'' You asked, with a sudden thirst for clarification.

Under rational circ*mstances, the thought of asking this would never have crossed your mind, for it would only have raised more suspicions about your intentions – and now Johnny made that clear in his suspicious look.

He was ready to answer with another question, when a voice just behind you sounded uncomfortably loud and frighteningly cheerful.

''Nyo-ho-ho-ho! Johnny Boy!'' Said the voice, and you jolted with fright. ''I want to be struck by lightning if it isn't you!''

Johnny turned and smiled. A wide, genuine smile, adorably stunned, as if he had run out of breath. Gyro Zeppeli was nothing like you had imagined; a tall Italian with a straight, defined nose, a checkered shape in his chops. He jumped nimbly onto the pier and wrapped Johnny in a strong embrace, with slaps on the back and exclamations of surprise, all cheerfully returned by Johnny. You stood politely observing this reunion.

During the commotion, the hat of the man named Gyro fell beside you and you picked it up. It would be a true cowboy hat if it weren't for the patterned slits in the brim, taking away all the usefulness a hat should have. You stood up, avoiding the heated reunion, and could see the thick blond hair of the man without the hat. He kept emitting a curious sound that you believed to be his laughter, a heated "nyo-ho-ho!''.

The sky was comfortably clear, and a cool breeze blew in off the sea, bringing with it the strong smell of the beach, a mixture of sea lavender, pine trees, and something maritime rotting in the sun. The pier displayed a worrisome absence of masts; although a large ship was anchored there, the lack of structure of the port was evident. There wasn't even a liner, although the water in Tuckertown harbor was taken up by small sailing boats, rafts, canoes, and the small four-paddle boats traversed the water like dragonflies.

Gyro released Johnny from the crushing embrace and groped around his own head, noticing that his hat was missing and waving his head all around in search of the accessory. That's when the pair of green eyes focused on you.

"Oh, excuse me, miss.'' He said in a curt manner and a thick Italian accent, and you held his hat out to him. ''You have no idea how treacherous the wind is on the high seas, I had to jump into the water to get this hat twice!''

You said nothing, but smiled when you saw a flash of golden teeth opening and you felt an electric current go through the soles of your feet, as if the quay were electrified. A magnificent smile, which as it opened, removed your doubts about the man's parentage. "Go! Go! Zeppeli!" was studded on his teeth. He seemed strangely more attractive as you explored his appearance.

Johnny looked at you, somewhat embarrassed, but intoxicated by the joy of the reunion. His usually pale cheeks were now pink and shiny, showing a few small freckles. Gyro evaluated the exchange of glances between you and his friend, then raised one of his eyebrows.

"You... know each other?'' The Italian asked, taking the hat from your hand and extending the other to greet you.

''Johnny's told me a lot about you.'' You said, gradually being affected by the atmosphere of camaraderie and shaking Gyro's hand. "You can call me (Y/N).''

He smiled wider, shaking his hand amiably and staring at Johnny speculatively, then looked at you again, examining the details of your face, your clothes and your appearance, obviously calculating what kind of relationship you had with Johnny; and coming to a conclusion that didn't surprise you.

''Damn, Johnny! So it's not just your legs that are working again!'' He exclaimed with sparkling eyes. "It's a pleasure, miss, I'm Gyro Zeppeli.''

You couldn't help but be curious about that first statement, but just laughed amiably; you were ready to deny whatever inappropriate speculations Gyro was making when Johnny judged it most urgently.

What did he mean by ''your legs are working again''?

''It's not what you think, Gyro, she's just a friend.'' Johnny explained, and you were a bit taken aback by his choice of words. ''That's a long and confusing story you need to know.''

''Oh, is that true?'' Gyro glanced up at you, with another sudden, charming smile. ''So you're single?''

You laughed, lifting one shoulder as if to dismiss the question, and the mischievous smile slipped from the corner of Gyro's lips. Then he bent slightly towards you and took your hand, bringing it to his lips and kissing it formally.

The thick blond hair had been brushed back into a shiny and soft, though now windblown, appearance. That man was, in some ways, just as handsome as Johnny; but more radiant, by his amiable presentation. A tall, stocky and by no means disgraceful Italian, seen up close he was breathtakingly handsome. And, in a way, the fact that this was someone you would be researching about 83 years from now made it more resplendent.

You cleared your throat and for a moment forgot all about your agonizing journey; and Johnny seemed to have noticed.

Chapter 7: Luck Be A Lady

Chapter Text

''How is your family in Naples, Gyro?'' Johnny asked, causing the Italian to gently release your hand and return to unfinished business.

''They're fine. My little sister is becoming quite a lady, you should see it! I took so long to come back here because I didn't want to spend any more time away from her and my other brothers.''

Gyro looked exultant and picked up his bag to walk with Johnny. You, uncomfortably out of place in the conversation, tried only to listen carefully to every detail; it was impossible to know how many people had the chance to hear a casual conversation between two men from the last century.

"How's it going at the Bastille Tavern?'' Gyro asked.

"More crowded than ever.'' Johnny replied. ''Of women, not customers. Madame Hildegarde and O'Shea were worried about you.''

''That place always gave me the creeps, but I like it there.'' Stiffening himself, he nodded in your direction and tried to include you in the conversation. "Are you from the Bastille Tavern, Bella?''

You reflected with a certain shyness at the immaculate compliment and at the same time with anger. Gyro certainly knew that the girls there were prostitutes, but he would continue to treat you kindly, without any hint of the barely disguised speculation that you occasionally noticed in the eyes of others. You looked at him, dusted off your trousers, and replied.

"No. I'm from Washington.''

"Oh, and what are you doing here? How do you know Johnny?''

"I...''

"Good of you to mention it, Gyro.'' Johnny interrupted you. "We have to talk about this. Are you hungry?''

"Always.'' Gyro replied, squinting his eyes with undeniable curiosity. "And what about Valkyrie? How is she? Did you bring her?''

You felt, more than heard, that the conversations that followed required no participation from you. The only thing left for you to do was to follow them and listen carefully to what they said.

First, Gyro saw his mare, Valkyrie. He somehow seemed much happier to see the animal than to see his friend, exclaiming things in Italian like ''questa è la mia amata Valkyrie!'' and this thought made you laugh a little. Later, Johnny relayed to Gyro the latest news about friends they had in common; and you were more certain that they didn't trust you, as they seemed to use codenames to refer to close friends - things like Hot Pants and Wekapipo, whatever that last name means.

Although the conversations were confusing, you tried to orient yourself. Hot Pants seemed to be some kind of military man, a soldier from the Vatican garrison who, according to Gyro, had boarded a clandestine ship and disappeared over the seas, with the vague possibility of being on any one of the other five continents.

Wekapipo, in turn also some acquaintance of the Italian army, seemed to be someone Gyro was keen to keep in touch with after all - whatever "after all" means - and you remember Gyro mentioning the man's sister.

Until then, two people you didn't know were mentioned, both members of some kind of garrison or important organization. For a brief moment, you also wondered if they had all met during the Steel Ball Run. You already knew that this event was much more than just a race; but, honestly, you weren't interested in uncovering the hostile territories of these men's past. Your focus now was on finding your friend and getting home, no matter how or where.

You couldn't help but feel offended that you were being openly excluded from the issues, but you remained quiet, not imagining that the following conversation would revolt you even more.

''So, Johnny, what are you doing with a sweetie like that if she's still single?'' Gyro asked, glancing at you and then turning his focus back to his friend.

''She's lost, and she's looking for her friend.'' Johnny explained.

''And you're helping her? You're such a good Samaritan.''

"No. We're helping her.''

Gyro was silent for a few seconds. At that moment, only the sound of the hooves of the horses behind you could be heard. You were all walking on foot to a restaurant Johnny had mentioned. Gyro looked at you disapprovingly, taking in every detail of your attire and general scruffy but much more polished appearance than the women he was used to seeing.

"Us? What are you talking about, Johnny? Give me a break... I just got here!''

"Don't worry, it won't be too hard. Remember the letter I sent about Joshua Creed two months ago? Well, his gang is here, in town, planning to rob the bank at dawn.''

''And what does her friend have to do with it?''

"She thinks that Creed's men are with her friend. I think it's quite possible, because the robbery will take place at dawn, with no employees inside, and they will need a hostage to make it work; that's why they must be with the girl.''

''And where did you find this girl?''

''In the forest east of the Bastille Tavern. She was heading toward Creed's gang camp, so I stopped her. She said she was looking for her friend in that forest. Besides... she says she's the daughter of a lawyer and had an automobile.''

Gyro's eyes widened, surprised, but he tried to focus on his train of thought.

''So the gang kidnapped her friend and traveled here with the girl alive, only to use her as a hostage? What's so special about her? Don't get me wrong, Johnny, but this story is very strange. What were the two of them doing alone in that forest?''

Johnny didn't answer, so Gyro finally remembered that you were right there, listening attentively and with an undeniable anger and feeling of being left out. He directed his question at you, arching a well-defined eyebrow.

''I don't understand why you and your friend are so valuable, both to Johnny and to that gang. If you're so valuable, a lawyer's daughter, why the hell would they leave you wandering around the woods alone with your friend?''

He stared at you intensely, like a snake trying to hypnotize a bird. However, by now, you were indignant enough to regain some of your courage and you too stared at him without averting your eyes.

"Ah...'' You said, with exaggerated courtesy. "So I'm included in this conversation? I thought you were doing very well talking about me alone. Please continue.''

The graceful line of his mouth hardened a little and the deep wrinkle at the corner deepened further, but he said nothing. Putting his answer aside, he looked ahead and surveyed the restaurant Johnny had chosen.

You went in. The restaurant room welcomed you with a smell of fried fat and a faint smile. It was a large, pretentious room with edulcorated frescoes depicting hunters in various poses and varying degrees of enchantment, surrounded by a plethora of pale animals, druids and trees. A few sparse old ladies, two religious men, and a man in a suit finished their meals in silence. The restaurant closed at seven o'clock, and the impassive waiters were cheerfully in a desperate hurry to get rid of you. Just like in Washington, you thought, feeling a twinge of longing to eat at Bistro Arachosia.

"Doesn't he look just like Glenn Miller?'' Gyro asked in a low voice, his pointed, tanned elbow not pointing, but visibly itching to point, at the jacket-wearing customer dining alone across the room.

"That famous conductor?'' Johnny asked, looking at the man.

"Yes, he looks just like him.'' He confirmed, with a hint of mirth. You remained silent.

Without blinking, Gyro pulled out a chair and sat down in front of you at one of the tables, and Johnny sat down next to him, responsible for deciding what all three of you would eat. Gyro settled down casually with one booted foot resting on the opposite knee. With this movement, over the table, you saw a pair of round, metallic, greenish objects that you hadn't noticed before. Gyro was wearing a holster, but not like those cowboys you saw in the movies; it was a custom holster for those two metallic spheres. One of the spheres dangled from his hip, and one of Gyro's elegant, aristocratic hands groped the object, causing it to stop dangling.

Without a hat, his hair was light, full, lustrous, and finely textured. It was also similar in appearance to Johnny's, but the man did not discard his blue cap with star details and an extravagant golden horseshoe.

You didn't know if all this talking and beating around the bush was intended to make you nervous – and if so, it was working – or if he just didn't know what to do with you.

The tension was eased a bit by the entrance of a waiter, bringing a tray of juice and side dishes. Still in silence, Johnny poured a glass of juice and held it out to you. Both of you remained in silence for a while, nibbling on the side dishes until the main course arrived.

''So...'' Gyro finally spoke up. ''Why the hell are you two so quiet?''

"This is a f*cking torture.'' You said, almost immediately. "I need to go to the bathroom.''

Gyro was taken aback and, for some reason, could not contain his laughter at your urgency. Having dropped his mask, you listened for a few seconds to that laugh in a different tone. When it ended, he stared at you, and you were undeniably startled.

''Whatever you are, bella, at least you're amusing.'' He remarked, and with a cynical nod rang a small bell on the table.

When the waiter appeared, the Italian instructed him to lead you to the necessary facilities.

Locking the lavatory door to which you were led, you leaned weakly against it. Being away from the presence of those two men was a relief, but only for a short time. You already had ample opportunity to judge Johnny's true character, both from your assumptions and from your own experience, and you knew that he was only helping you by expecting something in return.

If he was just a pervert who expected sex in exchange for saving your friend's life, you wouldn't have bothered. You have had sex with more disgusting men for much lower prices. But there was that damned certainty that you were stuck with him and would remain so even after you found Louise. That corpse was proof of that, and now that you were no longer at the table, you could imagine that Johnny was telling Gyro all your terrible lies.

You sat on the floor, ignoring the stench while you concentrated on the problem. Escape now would be irrational; and, after finding Louise, unlikely. You thought about pretending to be ill and remaining in your refuge, but dismissed the idea – and not just because of the unpleasantness. The hard truth was that there was little point in postponing the moment when your lies would be questioned, unless you had something on your mind, that you didn't.

Frantically searching for anything useful you might know about Gyro, you came up with a name. Heard and carelessly recorded, you hoped you had the right name. It was a pitifully small card to play, but the only one you possessed. And it would be very useful depending on how the circ*mstances turned out.

Gyro Zeppeli. That man was intriguing. You would never imagine that the universe would be so cruel as to make you acquainted with one of Thom's research materials. You would plan to ask a few questions about the Italian to make sure he was who you thought he was – and, perhaps, blackmail him with his real name, which you remember reading in one of the documents as much as you remember Thom saying.

Iulius Caesar Zeppeli, such a pretentious name. You took a deep breath, let it out hastily, and left your sanctuary.

Luckily for you, their table was relatively far from the bathroom and they were both sitting side by side, so it would be impossible for them to see you opening the door. The gentle movement of their faces indicated that they were talking, and if you were cautious, you could hear them.

''Did she call Madre Hildegarde an old witch? What kind of monster would say that?''

"Shut up and listen, Gyro. I need her friend alive.''

"And why is that?''

Glancing ahead, you saw Johnny take something wrapped in a grimy cloth from his pocket and discreetly place it on the table. Gyro hesitated, but gently pulled the end of the cloth, lifting it to peek, and then remained absolutely silent.

The short expression of shock and disbelief that flashed across Gyro's face made it obvious that it was the eye of the corpse, as did the gentle slope of a small round shape under the cloth that was quickly picked up by Johnny and duly put away. Not only did Gyro look in shock, but you felt your throat tighten as you saw that the Italian also knew what the corpse was, judging by his face.

"That woman... (Y/N)...''

''She claims to be an archaeologist.'' Johnny interrupted him to continue explaining. ''Just like Doctor Ferdinand, remember? The one who gave the stand ability to Dio.''

''Yes, I remember.'' The Italian replied, his voice sounding deadly serious. ''Is she a stand user?''

''I don't think so, but she was lost in the forest, almost naked, drunk, and with this eye in her pocket. She told me that she called her friend to help her with some research, that they both had all the parts of the corpse, and then (Y/N) woke up without her friend, without the corpse, and without the... car.''

''Archaeologist... I wonder... if she works for the government?''

''The government wouldn't hire a woman.''

At this point, if this wasn't a prank being broadcast on national television, you were going insane. You had no idea who or what they were talking about, and the urge to look around for cameras was inevitable. Your search being frustrated, you returned your attention to the conversation.

''And there's more... her friend is a widow, her name is Louise.''

"So what?''

''Her husband... her supposed dead husband is called Luca Brando.''

''What?!''

With Gyro's sudden jolt, the whole restaurant stared at him and you retreated behind one of the walls but kept listening.

''Brando? Are you sure, Johnny?''

"Yes. If she's telling the truth, which I doubt very much, we're going to have to ask this Louise some questions.''

"Don't you think you might be jumping the gun? There are a lot of people named Brando out there. And as far as Hot Pants told me, Dio has no family. I mean... only one father, Dario Brando, but they say Dio killed him after the race.''

''I know this... maybe it's just coincidence, yes, but these two women were with the corpse and (Y/N) acts too strange to be just a lawyer's daughter or a lost archaeologist. I'm telling you, Gyro, something is really wrong...''

''Now I understand... What else?''

''I heard that Creed's gang is hiding on the second floor of the gunsmith's store. The third floor is a clandestine gambling spot. Louise is probably being held hostage there, and is holding the corpse.''

''Why would this gang keep the corpse? I don't think they would believe it's that valuable. They're just outlaws, you know...''

"Joshua Creed has ties to the government. He was a military man, he tried to become a politician, so he has a decent education.''

''But that doesn't mean anything, Johnny, he's robbing banks and hiding out in the woods with other rednecks. I don't think the other members of the gang are also well-educated ex-military men.''

''They don't have to be. Joshua may still have ties to the government... you know... with Dio.''

Gyro was silent for a few seconds, analyzing Johnny's hypothesis.

''Well... maybe you're right. I had forgotten that Dio... Ah, sh*t. What the hell were those two women doing with the corpse?!''

''That's what I'm trying to find out.''

At that very moment, a hurried waiter bumped into you, waving a tray with what looked like the order Johnny had made. Some glasses clinked, but didn't fall over, and you and the waiter apologized to each other in unison. The commotion drew the attention of much of the restaurant, including Gyro and Johnny, who looked back and waited for you to sit back down at the table. The silence was again restored by the time you returned.

In the hours of that crazy trip you had taken, you had no doubt been a laughable failure when it came to being a good liar – or at least telling a decent enough lie to keep you from having to say "I came from the future" to those two cowboys.

But now, Gyro and Johnny didn't say anything. The waiter served a substantial meal that resembled the quality of a packed lunch. You looked at Gyro, his gaze slipping from the window to your untouched plate and back to the window, while Johnny made no secret of staring at you. It was getting dark and the imminence of the scheduled assault was increasingly alarming. You leaned back in your chair and invigorated yourself with big sips of a refreshing juice, while you watched the two men eat.

"I'll be right back.'' Johnny said, breaking the silence as he stood up.

Gyro frowned, confused, but Johnny didn't give him time to ask any questions, and you weren't interested in what he was going to do. Then Johnny simply walked away, leaving you two alone, with a silence interrupted by the clinking of silverware.

Seemingly friendly, you cautiously glance at each other out of the corner of your eyes. Two best friends and a stranger. Gyro was the focal point of you and Johnny being there, tacit, around which your thoughts revolved. If you wanted to find your friend and get home, you had to trust these two men.

The shared years joined them forever, like the wefts of a cloth, but the loops of the fabric were loose, from absence and suspicion, then from your intrusion. Johnny and Gyro's threads had been in this fabric from the beginning, yours was new. How would the tensions act in this new warp, one thread against the other?

Your conversations were about trivial matters, but with the unspoken words clearly audible below.

"Did you and Johnny meet in that race?'' You broke the silence, repeating the question that Johnny hadn't answered before.

"Huh?'' He rested his fork on his plate, surprised by the sound of your voice.

''Steel Ball Run. The transcontinental race of 1890.''

''Ah, yes.'' Gyro replied. ''We met at the first stage, in San Diego.''

We've been partners since the beginning. Our friendship lasted long before we discovered this corpse. What are you, stranger, doing here?

"Johnny says you're an archeologist.'' He continued.

"Yes, I am.''

And in the distant future, you'll be my research subject.

"So you study ancient things? Fossils and relics?''

''Almost... I imagine he already told you about the corpse.''

"Yes, he did.''

''I study atypical phenomena of nature and incorrupt bodies. In this case... corpses of saints or mummies.''

That's what I'm doing here, working, although against my will.

''Johnny said that you called Madame Hildegarde a witch.''

He offers you lodging and food, and this is how you repay?

''She thought I was a prostitute. Besides, she's not very friendly. I'm not a prostitute and I don't accept being treated like one.''

It's all just a big misunderstanding, but I was the first to have my honor hurt.

And so the conversation continued until Johnny returned, on general subjects, exchanging small information, opinions, light and hesitant jokes, evaluating each other. A well-born, highly educated, skilled and strong European, he was not someone to be evaluated lightly and superficially. You wondered what he was thinking about you, but he seemed as capable as Johnny of hiding his thoughts when he decided to.

"What do you think Johnny's doing?''

''He's probably talking to the manager. Looking for information.'' He answered calmly. "He'll be right back.''

You didn't answer but looked around for Johnny's figure standing at a counter where the manager was resting, as Gyro had said. The Italian, by the way, was looking at you carefully, his face with a soft expression of suspicion and amusem*nt. He was good-natured, yes. His voice was melodic, too quiet for a man of his size, not the deep voice you would expect from such a large chest.

Johnny returned to the table, stopping halfway down to look suspiciously around. You and Gyro were silent by now, and that didn't change with Johnny's return. This particularly bothered you. You had heard them talking quietly in your absence and knew that the real cause of this uncomfortable silence was you, only you.

"What time is it?'' You asked, not knowing exactly to whom. You just wanted to say something.

"Six-thirty.'' Johnny answered after a brief glance at his wristwatch.

"And when do we go after that gang?''

"Eat, then we'll talk about it.''

''You don't have to worry about spoiling my appetite, because I don't have one. What do you intend to do?''

"Nothing you need to know.''

"What?'' You couldn't hide your surprise. "We have a deal, I'm coming with you and I need to know!''

"Deal? We don't have a deal.'' Johnny replied dryly. ''We'll drop you off at a hotel, we'll bring your friend and you'll answer some questions.''

You swallowed hard, forcing down the bitter bile that had risen in your throat, mixed with the sip of juice. Johnny sipped his juice, pleased with himself.

''Have you forgotten about the corpse?'' You whispered angrily, approaching the center of the table like a snake. "I have all the parts of the corpse, and I still have a lot more information about it. Project Ecclesiastes, Devil's Palm, Thomas Foster, the identity of the corpse... I'm absolutely sure that you don't know even ten percent of what I know about it.''

''Devil's Palm?'' Gyro cut in. ''What the hell do you know about it, woman?''

You weren't too surprised that he knew what the Devil's Palm was because you knew that it was a very common legend from the Old West.

"Everything. I can track the Devil's Palm anywhere.'' You explained, exempting yourself from complex terms like satellites, computers, and radars.

"And what makes us sure you're not lying again?''

You stared for a moment at Gyro, who seemed focused on his plate of spaghetti. For a moment you felt sorry for ruining the peaceful meal.

"You two are from the Steel Ball Run. You sent letters to the Vatican asking about the corpse in 1890.'' You said, with deliberate confidence, mentioning the date as if it weren't two years ago. Clinging to the hope that you could prove something with your knowledge. ''Actually, more specifically you, Gyro Zeppeli, sent a series of letters to the Vatican mentioning your goal of collecting all the parts along the race, as well as questioning the true identity of the... saint. You arrived on this continent in March 1890, using a false identity, and decided to take part in a race that was in fact a grand corrupt and terrorist scheme, don't you?''

Gyro spilled the juice on his lap and made some very gratifying noises.

You clicked your tongue in disapproval, looking at Johnny, who now seemed to have been taken by surprise.

The Italian calmed down, looking at you furiously. There wasn't much juice in the glass, but it remained overturned, its orange contents soaking the light green carpet, but he made no movement toward the bell on the table. A small muscle bulged in the side of his neck.

You find the stack of napkins in the corner of the table and take one, handing it to Gyro.

"I hope it doesn't stain.'' You said gently.

"No.'' Gyro said, ignoring the napkin, and looking at you intently. "How the hell do you know that? It's not possible, I burned the letters!''

"Why isn't it possible?'' You asked, feigning bravery, wondering what wouldn't be possible.

''Who the hell are you? And who the hell is your friend?'' Johnny questioned, with a strong frown.

"Who's Dio?'' You retorted, and Johnny seemed a little angrier at this question. Meanwhile, Gyro laughed with a tone of incredulity.

"You're kidding, aren't you, lady? You claim to know so much... and you don't know who Dio is? I don't know, Johnny... she sounds a lot like some friend of that bastard. She's saying things a henchman would say.''

"If a woman was working for the government, they would have informed me.'' Johnny clarified, not taking his eyes off you. ''And if she was working for Dio, why the hell would she act so ridiculous?''

''You said yourself that her friend is the widow of a man named Luca Brando! Why the hell did you bring that woman here, Johnny?''

"Can't you see she's lying about most of the things she says? The problem is to find out what is true and what is not...''

''Oh, but she wasn't lying when she talked about me!''

At this point, you were confused again. The only thing you could assume was that Dio was probably some rival connected to the government, since Joshua Creed has possible contacts with this man. Whatever the case, you remained silent.

''Is she testing us? As a spy?'' Johnny continued as if randomly suggesting, and you prepared to stand in one jump if necessary. Gyro's fists were clenched at his sides and lightly touched the metal spheres – whatever they were used for, they were capable of causing quite a bit of head trauma, and you wanted to stay away from that.

''She must be testing our credulity. Or my tolerance for irritation. Both, bella, are extremely weak.'' His green eyes narrowed speculatively, and you mentally prepared yourself.

"I'm not lying.'' You said. "I know a lot more than you realize, and knowledge is the price I'm willing to pay in exchange for my friend's life! I don't want to waste any more time!''

''And why should I believe you? Johnny is a fool, I know that, but I'm not like him. My friend here hasn't convinced me to help you yet, bella, so now it's your turn to try. Don't think we'll go easy on you just because you're a woman.''

At that moment, every impression of chivalry Gyro had built up crumbled in your mind, and an irrational feeling of anger naturally cultivated in your chest by your time of fighting chauvinistic and misogynistic pigs bubbled up. Courtesy and natural feminine incantations would not work with those two men. The only card left for you was buried in the rubble of your memory.

''What kind of gentleman threatens a woman like that?'' You asked courteously.

''A gentleman with foresight.''

Your eyes were half-lidded with bravery as you stared at Gyro, analyzing his face as if your mind were a biometric database.

''I have read several military and informal dispatches that mention this corpse. The vast majority were sent during 116 days. From September 1890 to January 1891, during the Steel Ball Run. One of the letters sent to the Vatican was addressed to Gyro Zeppeli. At first, I thought it was some archaeologist, but my friend did some brief research about a long Italian line called Zeppeli and about the firstborn of a man named Gregorio Zeppeli, who arrived on this continent six months before the race. When Johnny said your name, I didn't believe it was you, but I have no doubt. If I am not crazy... it is you. And I know your real name. I know who you are.''

Gyro, livid with shock, stood up in a jolt and pounded his fist on the table, shaking the extensive array of decorations and cutlery placed on it. A deep murmur of alarm was heard from the restaurant patrons, and the parallel conversations in the background ceased, all eyes focused on Gyro.

The Italian's situation couldn't be worse: his pants were soaked with juice and now everyone was looking at him and his sudden outburst of anger. Gratified, you remained paralyzed, not moving a single muscle or taking your eyes off Gyro. Like a deer staring at the headlights of a car. Even Johnny looked stunned but managed to contain himself and make Gyro sit down again.

''You little bitch...'' Gyro muttered, almost like a growl, and you could understand now what the sudden hatred meant. ''Don't you ever repeat those words out loud again, if you feel love for your life. Johnny's right, you have a lot of questions to answer, cagna.''

You took a deep breath in a way that, under different circ*mstances, would have sounded elegant, and stood up immediately after dismissing your plate of food. Closing your eyes, you gritted your teeth and clung to your anger. It was the only thing you had to fight fear. There was an air of intense anticipation as you looked at the two men, punctuated by the murmurs of the customers, and soon ceased as you walked towards the exit.

Walking along the restaurant's neatly trimmed facade, you leaned against a lamppost – for a second, you quickly looked up to see if it was a electrical pole, but were frustrated to see only a small lamplight atop the wooden stump – and rummaged through your pockets for some cigarettes. At first, you felt your wallet too, but out of habit you ignored it and pulled out a cigarette, ready to light it.

As you placed the cigarette between your lips to light it, you remembered that you had lost your lighter and had no match. You huffed and rolled your eyes, looking around. Behind you, just around the corner, was a familiar man. The same customer in the jacket that Gyro had been mocking when he entered the restaurant. He lit a cigarette, without putting out the match, and the smoke he exhaled through his nostrils reminded you of a pair of ivory tusks.

You smiled sweetly at him, which startled him a little when he saw that you were a woman in unpolished clothes. Your sense of vanity was deeply wounded by that startled male gaze – you were used to excessive courtesies from men like that.

"Excuse me, could you light my cigarette?'' You asked, holding out the cigarette to him.

"Of course, lady.'' He smiled and did so, then bowed politely with his hat.

Politely you thanked him and started to take a drag on your cigarette, and the man stood there.

''Oh, sorry to bother you...'' You spoke again. "But I'm new in town. Do you know where the gunsmith is?''

"The gunsmith?'' The man let out smoke through his nose as he spoke. ''It's east of town, near the general store. It's the biggest building, you'll know when you see it.''

"Alright... thank you very much, sir.'' You smiled again and saw his cheeks blush softly, but you ignored it and said goodbye to the man, turning the corner.

It was getting dark, the preface to a warm and dark night somewhere in New Jersey. Occasionally, a horse would pass, and you would always look for some rewarding sight of a car or motorcycle. The taillights turning down, the white lights moving forward, or the soft rumble of the engines... but the city seemed dead. No one strolled and laughed on the sidewalks as would have been the customary leisure of the sweet, grey, rotten 20th-century places. You enjoyed the innocent night and your terrible thoughts alone as you turned corners in hurried steps, fearing that Johnny and Gyro were looking for you.

A metal receptacle on the corner described with extreme thoroughness the types of products an establishment sold: sheets, paper, ink, cloths... A tailor's shop. Letters of a cherry-red color signaled a drugstore. A green, illuminated clock rested in the back of one of the few open establishments, surrounded by revolvers, crocodile heads, bear paws, and other crappy trophies on the walls. That seemed to be the gunsmith's store.

How many little towns in the dead of night had you seen? This would not be your last one.

You let yourself lose a little more time, the gunsmith was practically inactive. Across the street, you could see all the customers coming in and out of the place. All men, some in suits, others in beat-up clothes; most of them smoked pipes, and all of them, without exception, were armed. You noticed a curious pattern in a certain group of men who were dressed in the same way – a rustic gray suit, no hats, no ties, and business shoes with spurs.

"Why would anyone wear spurs in formal wear?'' You muttered softly to yourself, throwing the cigarette butt on the floor and stepping on it. It wasn't the same without your heels.

"They're getting ready to get on their horses and run away.'' Said a voice beside you, plunged into the darkness of an alley.

It was impossible to describe the impact of an instantaneous vision in a string of words. Your startle was reduced to a sharp exclamation that was soon contained by a hand on your shoulder. The touch startled you even more, and you turned around, giving a quick jab with your arm to defend yourself. Johnny deftly ducked, avoiding the slap, and snorted, somewhat surprised.

''Wow... is that what they teach you in archeology class?'' He sneered, standing up and looking at you.

"Yeah... my professor's name was James Bond.'' You sneered with a certain tone of irritation. "How did you find me?''

"Where else would you go?''

You pressed your lips together, holding back a rude and inappropriate response for a 19th-century woman. Your focus now was on being patient and astute. Johnny and Gyro didn't seem to be the kind of duo who made foolproof plans for action; neither of them even possessed weapons. The most weapon you ever saw Johnny handle was a hunting knife, while Gyro had those strange steel balls. They were about to do an unarmed operation inside a gun store.

"What do you intend to do?'' You asked, taking your time to find Gyro's silhouette sitting on a crate in the dark corner of the alley.

''Wait and study the place.'' Johnny replied.

"I meant when the time comes, during the robbery. What are you going to do?''

"Beat the crap out of them and get your friend, of course.'' Gyro intruded in the background.

"And how the hell do you intend to do that? Where are your weapons?''

Gyro muttered something, and Johnny let out a nasal laugh along with him. You didn't understand the reason for the joke, but you didn't say anything.

"Trust us.'' Johnny said, looking at the gunsmith.

"What about me? I may need to protect myself, can't I even carry a knife?''

''Your tongue is sharp enough, you can use it as a knife.'' Gyro said. ''You'll be fine.''

"Fine.'' You replied between your teeth, not too calm. You stretched out your hand, indicating the weapons in the gunsmith. "But it's no more effective than a gun. I know how to load and fire a pistol.''

"No way.'' Johnny said, seriously and firmly. You were a bit puzzled by his answer.

"Why not?''

''Because you are a woman, bella.'' Gyro replied.

You felt your face turn red.

"Oh, yeah?'' You exclaimed ironically. "You think women can't understand how a gun works?''

The Italian looked at you without changing, his mouth twisting slightly as he considered various answers.

"I feel like making you go into that store, buy a gun and try it out.'' He said, finally. ''It would serve you right.''

Johnny clicked his tongue, annoyed with the two of you.

''Don't be a fool, Gyro. As for you, (Y/N)...'' Johnny said, turning to you. ''It's not that women are stupid, it's that they're weak.''

"Oh?'' You looked at him perplexed for a moment, without understanding.

Gyro let out a loud breath and pulled one of his steel spheres from its holster. Viewed up close, it was huge, and he held it out in front of you.

"Look.'' He said, indicating for you to hold the sphere.

It was not an absurdly heavy object; but much heavier than you expected. When Gyro released the sphere in your hand, your arm came down with a jerk and then returned to its original position with a slight effort.

''It's no heavier than a loaded pistol.'' He said, reminding you that the guns of that era were, in fact, cruder than the ones you used to see in movies or on policemen's belts. ''And it's not enough just to load and fire. You need support, stability, and your arm dropped like a rag doll when you held my steel ball. You don't know how to use a gun.''

You stared at him in disbelief, and he took the steel ball back and put it in its holster.

''When you pull the trigger, the gun recoil like a mule. I'm a lot stronger than you are, and a gun recoil can hurt me pretty bad if I can't handle it; it should knock you flat on your back if it doesn't hit your face.'' He continued his explanation with a gentle tone of debauchery. ''I'd let you see for yourself, but I like you better with all your teeth. You must have a nice smile, even though you're always grumpy.''

The comment served as a lesson and you accepted without discussion the opinion of the two men that even the slightest proximity to some conflict was too dangerous for a woman like you. Johnny's small knife was deemed acceptable and he gave it to you, a sharp, pointed object with a lethal appearance. You felt the blade, and Gyro looked at you with deep doubt.

"Are you sure you're going to leave her armed, Johnny?''

''She's right, it can be dangerous to leave her alone with no way to defend herself, especially when we're dealing with Joshua Creed.''

''Hm... I still think the only good weapon for a woman is poison.''

''Maybe.'' Johnny retorted. ''But it has its disadvantages in hand-to-hand combat.''

Chapter 8: Fools Rush In

Chapter Text

"So, Johnny, what's the guy you're hunting like?'' Gyro asked, already tired of waiting.

''Joshua Creed. Black hair, fancy clothes, and has a star in his hand.''

''A star? Like your birthmark?''

''Ah... Maybe. It's a star, but it's tattooed, not a birthmark like mine.''

Gyro and Johnny took advantage of the next few hours to study the profiles that came into the gunsmith and plot plans by the bank's floor plan spreadsheet that Johnny had claimed to have gotten from the restaurant manager.

''Her friend will probably be here, being escorted by some goon, if not Creed himself.'' Johnny said, pointing to the center of the bank. ''You pick her up and take her to this corner. If it's not safe, then hide her in a building. I'll distract the rest.''

''You'll take all the action? I want to kick their asses too!''

Johnny sighed, closing his eyes for a brief moment and then opening them.

''Okay. I'll leave some of the goons for you.''

''You talk as if I'm some kind of idiot, Johnny. I can save a woman and fight at the same time, you know? I'm not that rusty.''

You continued to examine their plan with suspicion. Right away, you saw no guarantee of success, you could only have faith in them and nothing else.

''You, (Y/N), will be in charge of the corpse.'' Johnny said, drawing sighs of doubt and anger from both you and Gyro.

"What?'' You questioned, unsure if you had heard correctly.

"What?! Are you crazy, Johnny?'' Gyro also questioned, his well-defined eyebrows furrowed in pure anger. "What the hell are you talking about? Are you going to leave the corpse with her?''

''The corpse was already with her before, it won't be a problem for her to find it. You just need to be quick and careful, you'll have a little less than ten minutes to find it on the second floor of the gunsmith.''

The building loomed, black, against the cloudy sky. Built in the shape of a gigantic cube, with few windows, it could house twenty men in a gang if well organized. You raised your eyes to look at the building, not seeing any moving silhouettes. The men were definitely hiding there, but there was no light and no visible activity, so it was impossible to know exactly how many people were there besides the six men counted outside the establishment, wearing suits and spurs.

"What if...'' Your mouth was dry and you had to stop and bit your lips. ''What if they see me?''

Johnny's expression was the same as always: his mouth implacable and his chin defined and obstinate, projecting confidently into a well-marked jaw. It didn't change when he turned to you.

''Then it will be your friend's turn to look for you.'' He replied. "But don't worry, Creed always takes all his men with him when he robs banks, for security reasons. He also makes sure he's always there. But now one of them, if not all of them, will go back to the building to get the horses and the corpse.''

"You are a fool, Johnny. What if she's been playing us this whole time? What if she's just trying to get the corpse and get away?''

You stared at Gyro offended, and were ready to retort when Johnny sensed the arrival of a long discussion and tried to interrupt the two of you before you even opened your mouth.

"She'll be with the corpse, and we'll be with her friend.'' He said, looking at you with a clear threatening tone. "And if there is no friend, then we'll just find you.''

"You're getting soft, Johnny.''

"Fine.'' You finally said it. ''I'll take the corpse and hide near the restaurant. I don't care about that anymore, I just want my friend back so we can go home... but if you don't bring her back, I won't give you the corpse!''

''Then we have a deal.'' Johnny concluded. We'll keep hiding, when everyone leaves the building, you'll go in. If you need to use the knife, use it. But don't come out until you have the corpse.''

''Alright...''

Louise. The thought weighed like lead in your mind, a pendulum slowly swinging on the end of a rope. Not for long. The street stretched on endlessly in shadow before you, at times narrowing completely to the view of the building illuminated by two lampposts on the sidewalk. You swallowed hard as the first man came down the stairs and out the back of the building.

''It's time. (Y/N), only go into action when there's no one left.'' Johnny announced.

It was time to go into action. The knowledge of this fact stirred the blood in your veins with an adrenaline rush and your hands trembled around the knife handle. Before leaving with Johnny, Gyro put his hand on your shoulder as a sign of "good luck" which didn't sound friendly at all. It could more appropriately be read as ''Your life and the life of your friend depend on this goddamn corpse, so be competent.''

When your two partners disappeared into the misty shadows of the dimly lit street corners, you waited. You counted how many men came out of hiding: exactly eight, and, as Johnny had predicted, they all left their horses tied at the back of the building, ready to flee after the assault. You crossed the street, in the foolish habit of looking both ways to see if a car was coming – and obviously, it wasn't.

You narrowed around the building, as quietly as you could, and went up to the second floor the same way the men came out. Up close, the building didn't look like a very solid construction, for every inch of the damp old wood seemed to creak under your weight. Nevertheless, its three stories glistened immaculately among the cluster of other simple outbuildings and the wide brown streets. At the last step was a narrow balcony that had only one access door that didn't seem too difficult to open, even if it was locked.

With a dry click the door opened on the silent leather hinges.

"Oh my...'' You muttered at the sight of the interior of the floor. The current of wind that came through the door stirred the fetid air over the filthy mess and the suffocating smell of black mold.

You held your breath and stepped into the empty room with your hands firmly on the knife handle, a distant expression of disgust changing to a mixture of astonishment and something akin to growing surprise.

The place was poorly lit, but you were surprised that there were no candles in the place; had they been sitting in the dark like bats all these hours? Certainly not, and you knew this when you saw on a makeshift bucket table the unrecognizable figure distinct from all the other items in that century. Your flashlight.

You don't remember much before you woke up in this new world, but you were vaguely certain that Louise had your flashlight, illuminating, so that you could arrange the bones of the corpse perfectly. That was wonderful evidence that Louise was there.

Without wasting any time you picked up the flashlight, tapped the battery part a few times and turned it on, now able to better orient yourself around the room to finally look for the corpse. You couldn't forget that you had no more than ten minutes to get that corpse and escape before the gang came back.

It was the expected atmosphere of a gang hideout, you thought, examining the empty corned beef cans, some silverware on an old desk that you guessed the leader had taken over, and the thick, stained carpet of all kinds of dirty on the floor. You started to walk across the carpet, to examine an old cabinet in the corner of the room. You opened a small drawer and discovered some men's clothes in a state of filth that should not be there, stored in a locked place, becoming a potential colony of mushrooms and bacteria. In another drawer, carefully arranged below the clothes, was a silver set consisting of a mirror and brushes, as well as a comb and some sort of collar. But no corpse, you thought.

With another brief search, you found another item out of place among the other objects in the room: a black plastic box, with some scratches, still closed. Your eyes sparkled at the vague memory of using this box to store the corpse, and you immediately knelt down to open it.

You didn't know exactly what you were expecting; the corpse, perhaps? But it would be too easy, of course. From the weight of the box, you could already sense before opening that there wasn't even a shin inside, but still you removed the lid to visually confirm. Inside was a thick envelope with the Speedwagon Foundation logo printed on it, and you took it, feeling not the slightest bit relieved.

"Why don't you look at the desk, dear?'' A deep, sinuous voice echoed in the darkness insulated by the glow of the flashlight.

Startled, you jumped to your feet and clutched the envelope tightly in your arm, then exclaimed and raised the knife forward, as a kind of warning to whoever was there.

''Who's there?!'' Your voice was high pitched due to nervousness; it resounded shrilly in the partially empty room, echoing among the rummaging cans and cabinets. You stood still against the wooden wall, like a prisoner awaiting the firing squad, pointing with the flashlight everywhere until you found the silhouette of a man who recoiled at the sudden glare.

''Oh, God.'' He said frivolously, turning his face away from the glow of the flashlight. ''I kept wondering what the hell this was, and I still don't understand.''

Fully visible in the whitish light, you saw a tall man in clean, formal attire, discreet and anonymous. He kept a reasonably close shave, and his brown hair was combed back, emphasizing some deep wrinkles at the corner of his eyes as well as gray lines. He had an exaggeratedly imposing posture, like a military man, and walked very quietly, traversing the commode like a giant cat.

"Wait a minute!'' You shouted, and the man obeyed, although he didn't seem the least bit intimidated by your crap knife. "You're from that gang, aren't you? Shouldn't you be in the damn bank?''

He smiled and urged, with raised hands, that he was unarmed. He approached cautiously, showing no sign of fear.

''Don't be afraid of me, chère madame. I won't bite.''

"Who the hell are you?''

He was much more relaxed than you were. Well, of course he was, you thought. You took a deep breath and tried to relax.

"So Johnny Joestar works with women now? I didn't realize he was such a coward... to send such a beautiful girl to scour our hideout. Did he think I would feel sorry for him? I wonder, who would you be?''

You didn't answer, taking a deep breath. You fought against the growing sense of panic that spread through your aching legs, threatening to drag you into the abyss of fatigue that opened beneath your feet. It was absolutely no time to let your guard down.

"You don't need to be afraid of me, I know there are many absurd rumors about me and my men, but I assure you they are nothing more than vulgar slander.''

''Are you Joshua Creed?'' You asked, although you knew what the answer was.

He looked at you kindly, smiling as he went around the desk to sit on a chair casually.

''I am happy to dispense with introductions. Please, madam, take a seat.'' He suggested, indicating a chair also in front of the desk.

You took a deep breath, and the only thing that crossed your mind was how much time you had left to escape; at this point, the mission should be aborted immediately. There was no corpse, only the gang leader who has unfinished business with Johnny, not you.

With this in mind, looking at the door, your first reflex was to cross the room and run to the exit. Creed did nothing to stop you, but when you opened the door, you were greeted by a loud thud and a good elbow that pushed you violently into the room again, causing you to fall to the floor.

A henchman, or simply an orderly of some sort, was stationed outside the door, prepared to quell any attempt to escape on your part. You cursed something unintelligible and stood up, confused, while Creed watched you with an expression of cautious amusem*nt on his broad, reddened face.

"As I said, dear, I think you'd better take a seat.'' He said, in that high tenor voice that came so strangely out of that drum-shaped chest. He sounded more like some kind of lazy politician than a military man.

"Son of a bitch...'' You said, but you felt that this curse was especially directed at Johnny and Gyro, the ones responsible for all this.

You didn't have much choice, so you cautiously approached the desk, not intending to sit down, but doing so when the man insisted again. You sat down as gracefully and quietly as possible, ignoring the profuse mud and horsehair stains on your clothes. Creed watched you, still smiling slightly.

"Which one are you?'' Asked the military man suddenly. ''An innocent hostage, a fervent lover, or a bounty hunter?''

You rubbed two fingers over the pain between your eyes, raising your eyebrows frivolously and wearily. The correct answer was ''neither of the above'', but you didn't think that would get you very far.

''The hospitality of this hideaway seems to leave a little to be desired about the people it welcomes, no?'' You said, ironically, as arrogant as you could be under the circ*mstances, which wasn't very much.

The man laughed, a sort of loud, trilling laugh, like a bat that had just heard a good joke.

"Oh, forgive me. You are quite right; I should have thought to offer you some tea before I dared to question you.'' He said with the same tone of sarcasm, punctuated frighteningly by the lack of certainty as to whether ''tea'' really was the drink.

Despite the outward cordiality, this was a kind of truce designed to keep you there until the rest of the gang returned, and you knew it.

What you wanted to know was why. Already used to people wondering who the hell you were, you wondered where Joshua Creed fit in. Or where he thought you fit in. He and Johnny seemed to know each other more than was safe between a gang leader and a bounty hunter, and you were between those two men, inert, just looking for your friend.

He continued to evaluate you, and somewhere outside you could already hear the warlike ballet of a gunfight. The slight tinkle of the chain Creed was wearing was the signal for the resumption of hostilities.

''Well,'' He said, as firmly as possible for a man who sounded like Bugs Bunny. ''let me begin, Mrs. Joestar... may I call you that?''

''What? What the hell are you talking about?''

"Why, what other kind of woman would be risking so much to help that man, if not some mindless lover?''

You were silent for a moment, beginning to get a brief sense of how dangerous it was for Creed to think you were someone important to Johnny. In every movie you'd ever seen, between deep enmity, the first to die would always be the lover of the one involved – and you definitely weren't ready to die for a man you didn't give a damn about.

Although you were deeply uncomfortable with being called "Mrs. Joestar" you knew that to dispute this would open an inquiry into your real name, which you were unwilling to tell that man. At that moment, you could only remain silent.

''I must say, madam, that your man is a surprisingly difficult person to kill.'' He continued, leaning towards you a little, the smile still on his lips. ''But I'm sure that tonight we will succeed, provided we have enough determination. It's the corpse you're looking for, isn't it? I'm sorry, but it was a big investment I had to make to kill your man.''

"What do you mean?'' You asked, your throat dry.

''What you are looking for is no longer here, and Joe Kid will not return. So, for now, let's use this brief moment to decide your future. Can you please tell me your name?''

You stared at him, without moving. But not out of some innate cold-bloodedness, it was simple shock. Adopting one of Johnny's mannerisms, you raised your eyebrows inquisitively.

"Do you think I'm stupid?'' You said, dispensing courtesies. "I don't have the slightest idea what you're talking about.''

"Not at all, my dear.''

His small, withered brown eyes didn't blink. His face was like a villain's; a long, white nose with exaggeratedly thin, tightly closed lips and a pair of ears that protruded from his head like a small wing on either side, the tips flaring red.

''I've been trained to deal with bitches like you.'' He said. ''Actually, I'm trained to handle any kind of slu*t. And I know how to take good advantage of them, you can ask the lady who's accompanied by my men.''

You frowned and the next instant you had confirmation of what you already knew – they took Louise hostage and God only knows what they did with her.

"You son of a bitch!'' You exclaimed and stood up in a leap, turning the chair over and grabbing the nearest object, a carved alabaster lamp. At that moment, the man also stood up threateningly fast, and you did nothing but take steps backward, knife and lamp in hand, slightly dazed by the darkness of the place, lit only partially by the flashlight on the desk. ''If you rats have done something to Louise, I swear I'll...''

"You won't have time for that.'' He interrupted you, approaching slowly.

"You filthy, disgusting, pervert!''

Creed looked bored with your reaction and shook his head negligently.

"Yes, yes, my dear. All that, I'm sure, and more. But very lucky, too.''

''Lucky? Is that what you call it?'' You stumbled around the room. Your hands were trembling with nervousness and it was visible through the rattling blade of the knife.

''For various reasons, my dear.'' He spread his hands in supplication. ''I've been trying for months to kill Johnny Joestar, and my private affiliate was not in the least bit willing to finance my plans for this to succeed. Then... a beautiful hooker suddenly appears in my camp with a mummy, which was more than enough incentive for my affiliate to send us proper support. And now, I am being visited by an even more precious jewel. No use denying it, ma'am, I saw you with Joestar.''

"Affiliate? What do you mean, affiliate?'' The room seemed to sway a little and you took a big step backward. "Would that be Dio by any chance?''

That guess, as random and blind as it was, was right on the mark. Having no other choice at the moment, you stood there watching his eyes widen in surprise. You bit your tongue.

"And may I ask how exactly you know this?''

You didn't answer, because you also couldn't remember exactly how you got this information – most likely when you overheard Gyro and Johnny's conversation, both of whom refused to say who Dio was. The only thing you knew about this man, however, was that he held some significant position in the government and that his name was even more presumptuous than Iulius Caesar.

Suddenly, Creed became more alert when he saw you coming closer and closer to the window. Realizing this, you prepared to use your knees for any movement that would free you from that man's control.

He threw himself on you and you jumped to the side. Grabbing the lampshade, you threw it at him. He dodged and the lampshade hit the wall with a loud thud. One of the henchmen, who was standing by outside, stuck his astonished head through the door.

Breathing noisily, Joshua Creed impatiently motioned for him to come in.

"Hold her.'' He ordered sharply, crossing the room towards the table. You started to breathe deeply, both hoping to calm down and expecting not to be able to do so for a while.

However, instead of beating you, he simply opened the lower right-hand drawer, which you hadn't had time to investigate, and took out a long piece of thin rope. In this way, he tied your wrists behind your back.

"Get out of here.'' He said impatiently to his henchman, shaking his head toward the door. "And don't come back, no matter what you hear.''

That sounded terribly threatening, and your fears proved more than justified when he stuck his hand in the drawer once more.

There is something frightening about a knife. Men who are fearless in hand-to-hand combat cower before a naked blade. You recoiled, until your bound hands collided with the wall. The fearsome glinting tip descended and pressed against a point between your breasts.

''Now...'' He said comfortably. ''You're going to tell me everything you know about Dio Brando. Take your time, dear. I'm in no hurry.''

The blade pressed a little harder, sinking into the fabric of your clothes. A small sound was heard as the tip pierced your clothes. You felt the blade, cold as fear, a tiny point directly over your heart.

Creed slowly slid the knife in a semicircle under one of your breasts. The rustic fabric came loose, fell away with a wobble of the white blouse, and your breasts popped out. Creed seemed to be holding his breath. He exhaled slowly now, his eyes fixed on yours.

You pulled away from him a little, but there was almost no room to maneuver. You ended up pressed against the table, your hands gripping the edge. If he came any closer, you thought, maybe you could roll back on your hands and kick the knife out of his hand. You doubted he intended to kill you; certainly not until he found out exactly what you knew about Dio. For some reason, this conclusion was relatively comforting.

He smiled, moved swiftly, tucking a knee between your thighs and pushing your shoulders back. Unable to keep your balance, you fell heavily backward onto the table, screaming as you landed painfully on your bound wrists. He pressed his body between your legs, reaching with one hand for your bare breast. You started to scream and fight frantically, but the ropes got in the way. He grabbed your foot and ran his hand down your leg, pushing at the damp fabric of your pants.

In the middle of a bank robbery, screaming probably wouldn't attract any useful attention from the town, but you filled your lungs and tried, more as a protest than anything else. You expected a slap or a jerk in response, to shut you up. Instead, unexpectedly, he seemed to enjoy it.

"Come on, baby, scream.'' He muttered. ''I'll like it much better if you scream.''

You looked him straight in the eye and replied, with clarity and an absolute lack of inability.

"f*ck you, son of a bitch!''

You were furious, nauseated, humiliated and disgusted, but curiously not very afraid. Yet, you didn't scream. You wouldn't satisfy him.

Thus done, you were rewarded with a strong slap. You clamped your mouth shut tightly and turned your face away, so as not to be tempted to make new reckless remarks. You considered that, rapist or not, you were in serious danger from this man of unstable temperament. Looking away from Creed, you noticed a sudden flash of movement in the window.

Creed seemed to see it as you did, for he remained paralyzed, one hand still on your breast. A man had come through the window, and was pointing his index finger in Creed's direction. His attacker remained still for a moment, as if he couldn't believe it. His right hand left your breast and slyly slid toward the knife, which he had placed on the table next to your head.

"What the hell are you doing here?!'' Creed asked, incredulous. "Where are my men?!''

''You'll soon be able to find them.'' The man said, and the voice served as an almost immediate relief to you.

Creed's hand gripped the knife and turned; the blade now pointed at your throat. You could see Johnny over your shoulder, like a feline ready to leap. Johnny's hand didn't flinch, and for a moment dozens of blue dots flashed across his skin. Covered in adrenaline, you thought you were hallucinating until you heard the distinct sound of a bullet being fired, and Creed threw himself to the ground, pulling you along. The tip of the knife touched his throat, but did not pierce. This way, Creed slowly got up and held you hostage.

Suddenly there was a loud thud. The young thug guarding the door was thrown violently into the room and fell to the floor like a rag doll, making it clear that he was already dead. Amidst the raised dust, you saw Gyro enter gracefully through the destroyed door, with a golden smile on his face.

''Nyo-ho! Johnny, you didn't tell me this would be so much fun! I'm thinking of becoming a bounty hunter too!''

Johnny didn't answer, with a serious expression on his face. The blade of the knife pressed against your skin enough for you to feel a thin line of blood trickle down the middle of your collarbone. Trapped, Creed's only card was to hold you hostage and run away. But with one agile movement, he switched the knife from one hand to the other and pulled out a revolver, pointing it at Gyro.

Gyro's expression changed completely when he saw it, and as Creed finished the maneuver, Gyro threw himself into the mouth of the revolver. You tried to scream, to stop him, but your mouth was dry with terror. Creed's knuckles paled as he squeezed the trigger.

The revolver's bullet somehow hit the ceiling. You could now see the flesh of Creed's arm twisting in visibly painful spirals, forcing him to change the direction of the barrel of the gun. The revolver fell to the floor as Johnny shot Creed's deformed arm and Gyro threw one of his steel balls into the man's stomach. There was a loud crack as the other fist smashed the wanted man's nose and a thin stream of blood stained your face. Creed's eyes rolled back and he dropped to the floor like a stone.

With the confusion, you fell with the harsh clatter of shaking bones. Johnny was behind you, pulling you to your feet and cutting the rope from your wrists.

''What the hell did you just shoot with your hands?!'' You shouted hysterically.

''We'll have time to talk about it later.'' Johnny said between his teeth.

The clatter of feet was coming down the corridor towards the bedroom. The rope came loose and Johnny dragged it with a jerk to the window. Luckily, you struggled briefly against him toward the desk, determined to grab the briefcase and flashlight that were still on it. Then he managed to pull you to him. It was a big drop to the floor, but the footsteps were almost to the door and Gyro was hurrying you both to jump. The three of you jumped together.

The fall wasn't as painful as you thought, but you rolled in a mess of rocks and sand. Johnny lifted you again with a jerk and pressed you against the wall of the building. Footsteps rushed around the corner of the building; threegoons appeared in your field of vision, but didn't look in your direction.

As they moved away, you heard Gyro whistle and a few trots sounded. Obediently, Gyro and Johnny's horses came closer, and with a push from Johnny, you climbed on the white horse, leaping off, grabbing the saddle and waiting for him to come up to lead the horse. You felt yourself shaking and shivering as the horse began to gallop. Your heart felt like a mechanical hammer; looking down, you saw that one of your breasts was still exposed. There wasn't much you could do about it at the moment. You held on to Johnny tightly.

"What the hell was that on the bank, Johnny?'' Gyro shouted.

''I don't know! It looked more like a terrorist attack than a robbery!''

''Louise! Have you seen her? Is she all right?'' You cut in, not realizing how shaky your voice was.

"Stay calm.'' Johnny lowered his voice a little to talk to you, because you were close enough. "She's alive.''

A sudden wave of relief washed over your body like a crashing wave. According to Johnny, Louise was alive, and that mattered most now. You yourself, upset and shaken, felt a sense of motivation when you heard the news, but it was still too early to celebrate.

You slowed down a bit, about less than one mile from Tuckertown, when it became clear that you had got rid of your pursuers. You were in the middle of the dawn, moving off at a steady pace, Johnny's double-loaded horse a little behind. When they deemed it safe, they stopped to rest. Johnny helped you off the horse.

You were beginning to tremble in delayed effect and crossed your arms both to hide your exposed breasts and to calm the trembling. Your clothes were torn and you felt a bone-chilling chill.

"Are you sure you saw Louise?'' You stammered, looking at Johnny.

"I think so. Redhead, green eyes, strange clothes... I didn't have time to ask if she knew a man named Mick Jagger, because they set fire to the bank and left her.'' Johnny's voice was cold and slightly sarcastic. You couldn't blame him. Your teeth began to grind.

''I managed to get her out of the fire, but it was too dangerous to take her with us. The officers will find your friend.'' Gyro continued. ''What the hell was that, Johnny? They didn't even touch the safes, they were just trying to kill you!''

"Yeah... that was an ambush, a warning.''

"I'm sure the bastard Dio is behind it, I can feel it!''

The two men continued to discuss the events at the bank that you didn't have the privilege to witness, because you were too busy being interrogated by a sad*stic military man. You stood still, motionless, completely leaning on a tree trunk, still clutching with all your might the flashlight and the file folder you had stolen from Speedwagon Foundation, as if those things were the material proof of your existence in that place. Your breath was noisy and shaky, anticipating a cry of agony that you had been holding in all this time. It wasn't raining, but the myriad of events made it seem as if everything was taking place under a storm.

You felt the meridians of your body numb with adrenaline and the urge to hide your face and cry welled up in your eyes. Warm, slippery tears wet the palms of your hands, and the heated discussion between Gyro and Johnny immediately ceased. You didn't cry all day, after all. And maybe that's why they didn't trust you. But at that moment you gave in, even if only for a few minutes. When you raised your eyes, wiping the tears from your face, you saw the two men still staring, their eyes dry on the silent objects in your hands. Sensing that you were watching them, they looked at you.

"There was no...'' You stammered, your voice hoarse. "There was no corpse. But the box and the flashlight that Louise had left were there...''

Gyro's face, tense for so many minutes, relaxed a little when he took a blanket that was wrapped behind his horse's saddle and crouched down beside you, unfolding it.

You knew he was about to start an interrogation about the objects you brought, but your condition was deplorable. He restored some of your dignity when he covered you with the blanket over your torn clothes. His touch was not the least bit insinuating, even in front of your scantily clad figure, and this helped you relax a bit.

"You did a good job.'' Gyro said dryly. "Better than Johnny or I could have done. Get some rest.''

Your eyebrows drew back weakly and lamely, you knew you needed to rest, as much as you knew you never would.

''No. We have to go back, it will be dangerous for Louise if...''

"She's probably with theauthoritiesnow, there's nowhere safer.'' Johnny said, trying to reassure you as he approached. ''How do you feel? Did Creed hurt you?''

Still stunned, you paused briefly to make sure you were really okay. Despite the cold, the shaking, and the throbbing dizziness, you didn't look seriously hurt, but you didn't answer, looking at Johnny as if he were an alien. Or simply anything but a human.

"How did you shoot those men?'' You asked, looking at Johnny without blinking. "You don't have a gun. How the hell did you shoot them?''

Johnny took a deep, relaxed breath, just a little.

"Did you see it?'' He asked.

"See what, exactly? I saw many things.''

Johnny came over, insipid as a statue, and knelt down in front of you and beside Gyro, holding out his right hand so that you could see it. You felt a slight shiver and a stirring when you saw his nails –when you saw, in fact, the absence of three nails –and raised your head sharply, snorting in surprise. You had never noticed his hands before; maybe he never had fingernails. But then what did he shoot Joshua Creed with? Some kind of invisible weapon? Some device hidden in his knuckles, like Spider-Man?

However, you were speechless. You simply took a deep breath, your body shaking with the recent shock; you let go of Johnny's hand, hugging your knees and looking down. Your heart was still beating hard in your throat, and you could feel the chill hit your bones. After the stifling air of the hideout and the city, with its smells of mud, sweat, blood, gunpowder and horse manure, the cool, clean air of the forest took your breath away and you snuggled against the tight trunk of the tree, shivering. Your hands clenched tighter together around your knees, stiff as a promise; you would find Louise at any cost and return home.

"My God.'' Gyro said in a whisper, and then put a hand on your shoulder. "What has that man done? You're shaking like a leaf.''

"I'm sorry.'' Said Johnny. ''I didn't think Creed would let his men do it alone, I should have come back as soon as I saw he wasn't there.''

''He didn't do anything to me.'' You promptly replied, raising your eyes to the two men. "He would only do it if I screamed, but I told him to go f*ck himself.''

The moment you raised your head, you saw Johnny's hand reach up to your chin and touch the corner of your mouth. When he touched that specific area, you felt the sharp pain of a bruise; probably Creed's slap had left a clear mark on your face that you haven't had a chance to see yet. Johnny's expression intensified with a frown and then he stopped touching yourface.

"You didn't answer me.'' Johnny said. "Can you see my stand ability?''

It took you a few seconds to answer.

''I don't know what the hell this is, but you just showed me that you can shoot your nails.'' If you weren't so tired, you'd be awestruck right now. ''I... I wish I could say that was the strangest thing I've ever seen, but I'd be lying. It's just... I just don't want to go crazy with it all. I need to get back home. I need to keep my sanity until I can get home.''

"You'll be able to go back to Washington as soon as we get your friend and the corpse back.''

No, you thought, I won't. My home is much further away, a century away.

''Well...'' Gyro began, standing up and taking a deep breath. ''Let her rest, Johnny. I'm going to light a fire.''

"Do you remember how to do that?'' Johnny questioned in a sarcastic tone, standing up.

''Of course I remember! What kind of idiot do you think I am?''

''I just figured that in Italy you wouldn't have to light any fires.'' He explained, but didn't seem intent on appeasing the mockery. ''You've been there a long time, you know...''

''Shut the f*ck up, Johnny. Of course I can light a fire, just as I can still fight and ride!''

''Don't take this the wrong way... but you look a little rusty.''

''Really?! You're the last person I expected to say that to me!''

''Huh? What do you mean by that?

"Don't play dumb, you know very well what I mean. Now be quiet and let me light the damn fire.''

Chapter 9: Somethin' Stupid

Chapter Text

You had time to calm down, although you felt like you were coagulating into cubes of quivering jelly. Gyro and Johnny's efforts to keep you calm and willing to talk about everything you had discovered with Joshua Creed did not seem effectively helpful, for you knew that it was up to you; but you appreciated their efforts.

Though accompanied, loneliness consumed you. But this was not a new feeling; you had always been a lonely soul and not even the changing fabrics of time would change that. You were alone in the comfort of your home and your car, and you were also alone in the cold of the camp and the stench of the horses. You had what is called an inner life and you didn't know it until this moment. You always lived off yourself as if you were eating your own guts out. When you went to work, you looked like a meek madwoman, for as you ran from the house to the Speedwagon Foundation, you daydreamed in high and dazzling dreams and goals. These dreams, of such inwardness, were empty because you lacked many essentials. Most of the time, without knowing it, the only thing you had was emptiness temporarily filled by mediocre ecstasies.

But you had pleasures. On frigid nights, you, all shivering under the denim sheet, used to hug your boss or a stranger you met in a pub. You had the warmth of the radiator, the glow of the lamps, the practicality and efficiency of a stove and a refrigerator; and, also, the tantalizing distraction of the glow of color television. Remembering your simple and mediocre pleasures brought you nothing but melancholy and longing.

You saw Gyro take a canister from his bag, when he had already managed to get sparks out of the flint, and asked:

"What is it?''

"Alcohol.'' He replied. ''The fire will burn faster with this.''

Alcohol? But where was the label? Why was it kept in a can, and not in a whitish plastic bottle? Why no percentage or ''flammable product'' warning? Less than a century ago, people were so carefree? You remember studying 19th-century beauty products in your college years and spending sleepless nights cutting out old newspapers from the office, comparing the labels and other elements of makeup products and moisturizers. The ads you were most used to show, in full color, the open pot of a skin cream of women who just weren't you. The older ones, however, showed only exaggeratedly false advertising about the quality and provenance of the product.

''So this is how you light a fire the European way? Using alcohol?''

"Shut up, Johnny.''

And now what? What would you do? If you remained silent, you would be trapped in your own questions about the complexity of the space-time mantle and the enormous risks you were running to affect the future. By this point, you were convinced that there was no place in the 20th century for Johnny and Gyro, and apparently not for you either. Now, as such a traveler, what could you do? You knew that your knowledge of the future and the past is a tool you were given, like a castaway in possession of a knife or a fishing line. It would not be immoral to use it, but how could it be useful? Would Johnny be interested to know about the Apollo 11 mission? Would Gyro be interested in knowing about the assassination of John Kennedy?

Well, knowing about the two world wars would be interesting, you thought sarcastically.

Still absorbed in your thoughts, almost without blinking, you kept watching Gyro, and the sparks flashed a reddish spot on his clothes.

"Hey, Gyro...'' You muttered, almost as if you didn't know that wasn't his real name. "Your shoulder...''

Gyro stopped and looked at you, then at his own shoulder, pulling at the fabric of his shirt to check the wound. Even though it was not very serious, the sleeve of the shirt had stuck to the flesh and came off with a small burst of dried blood. Droplets of blood pooled at the edges of the wound.

He smiled slightly, perhaps with a slight hint of flirtation.

''Don't worry, I've suffered far more serious injuries and for far less beautiful people.'' Gyro said, glaring at his friend, and turned his attention to the task of lighting the fire.

Slightly stunned by the sudden compliment, you stopped, took a deep breath, and let it out in an explosive gasp that rattled the strands of hair on your face when you saw Gyro's brief celebration of being able to light the fire.

"He wasn't with the corpse.'' You repeated, this time calmer and more organized, relaxing the arms that still held tightly to the flashlight and your paperwork.

"But it seems you didn't come back empty-handed.'' Said Johnny, referring to the pile of things that you dropped on the ground. "What's that?''

You rubbed your nose against the sleeve of your shirt, still covered by Gyro's blanket. The heat from the fire and the recent crying were starting to make your nose run.

"My work material.''

Johnny hesitated, but Gyro promptly took one of the sheets and read it for a few seconds. You knew that he was pretending to understand what was written, regardless of which one it was.

"Ecclesiastes Report.'' He read it aloud, and you could notice a twinge of suspicion and admiration at the quality of the printing. ''Macro. Male. Thirty-three years old. Beginning of necropsy...''

"Half past four this Tuesday morning.'' You completed laconically, now that you had noticed that Gyro was reading one of the necropsy reports.

''Yes.'' He continued. ''Primary disease and cause of death are censored.''

''Visible mutilation, lacerations and perforations. Obvious signs of torture of an Assyrian or Babylonian character, but used systematically by Persians, Romans and other peoples. The cause of death is indefinite to the foundation, but it is clear to me that he was tortured and crucified.''

''Hmm... Well, yes, you are right. But why don't they consider this hypothesis?'' Gyro asked, as if trying to enter your world.

''It's not easy to register a nuisance when it comes to a two-thousand-year-old corpse.''

''So this here is...''

''The complete necropsy of the Ecclesiastes project. I told you I was an archaeologist.''

"That doesn't prove anything, you could have just stolen this corpse. Every report has the name of the professional who performed the analysis.'' Said Gyro, overly pragmatic. ''I don't think your name is Leonard.''

"Louise.'' You said. "In the witness report. That's my friend's name, she'll be with Thomas Foster. The corpse was found here in New Jersey, a little over three hours from Washington, by a local farmer. The research team came along with an employee from the human resources department, Louise Duncan, to negotiate for possession of the corpse, which was found on this farmer's land. Along with the corpse was a crown of thorns, but I am sure it is not the original.''

Slightly stunned by the flood of new information, Gyro and Johnny were silent for a few seconds, analyzing each of the two words. They didn't seem to want to believe you, but they had no good arguments for it either.

You couldn't blame them, nor could you believe your own words. The only thing that kept you from believing that this was all a bad joke was a desperate line of reasoning.

We are all time travelers, you kept repeating to yourself, whether we know it or not. We fly into the future at a constant speed of one second per second and leave the past behind. But your past is the future of humanity now. New things will happen. Old things will be forgotten, as they always were. Your own life - not too long and not too short yet - saw the advent of antibiotics, war, AIDS, space travel, television, CDs, DVDs, videotapes, Richard Nixon (twice), women's rights (which, by God, you missed), and computers.

You saw the fall of communism, racial segregation, various records, the eradication of variola, polio, and the idea that smoking is charming - although you were still trying to convince yourself of that.

You saw the telephone, the Chevrolet, and the mania for running around naked after Woodstock. Of course they wouldn't believe you, of course they will never understand this and will surely die trying.

Meanwhile, Gyro looked through the stack of papers for the witness report, not taking long to find it. His green eyes, now yellowed with the glow of the campfire, widened with each line he read. He was reading what you already knew and had already said in the same words.

"Hey, Johnny...'' Gyro murmured, tilting the sheet towards him. "Check it out... Not the names. The names she said are here, Thomas Foster and Louise Duncan. That's what I'm talking about here...''

You didn't know exactly why, but you felt a terrible shiver when you saw Gyro indicating to his friend with his finger something on the paper that you couldn't seeor know what it was.

Johnny's eyes also widened and he looked at you, who were now paralyzed. He understandably didn't want to get into any more friction, but you made it difficult. Both men looked at each other, then at you.

''You still have a lot of explaining to do.'' Johnny said. ''Lying or not, you've had a very tiring day, we'd better leave this conversation for later.''

''Johnny's right.'' Gyro cut in. ''But there's still something very wrong with you.''

''Wrong with me?'' You questioned, certainly offended. " So there's nothing wrong with shooting nails and... metal balls?''

"Hey, don't change the subject!''

"I'm not changing the subject! You still haven't told me who the hell Dio is and why the hell he's involved with the man who attacked me and kidnapped my friend!''

''Why don't you find out for yourself, huh? You seemed pretty good at it when you tried to threaten me by talking about my family!''

"That's enough, Gyro!'' Johnny interrupted, his voice never louder than Gyro's, but loud enough to shut everyone up. ''Can we come to a consensus that we are all very confused here, and we need to get organized before anything else? Let's get some sleep and go back to the town tomorrow morning.''

''Oh, God...'' You muttered faintly, returning to hiding your face in the palm of your hand. You were exhausted, not knowing how to react or even what to say, and thinking about how you would explain your current situation to Louise was incredibly frustrating.

You were no longer worried about holding all that paperwork and your flashlight. To be honest, you were holding yourself back from throwing everything into the fire - and then throwing yourself.

Taking a few seconds to calm down, you watched the moon rise in the sky, starring in a way you had never seen before, on your first night as a resident of the 19th century. Twenty-four hours, therefore, since your calamitous passage through the Devil's Palm. At least now you knew that the legends were not false. But you couldn't stop thinking about how stupid you had been.

Maybe the Devil's Palm itself was a beacon. Just as a sign warns against rockslides at the edge of a cliff, the vertical claw-shaped stones were meant to signal a place of danger. A place where the crust of time was thin? Where a portal of some kind was open? Where rituals were performed? What if it wasn't just the Devil's Palm? What if it also had something to do with the certain degrees of sanctity of that uncorrupted corpse? What if you were only there because it is supposed to be that way?

Not that the builders of the claws knew what they were marking. To Gyro and Johnny, for example, the Devil's Palm would be a place of terrible mystery and magic - but what could be considered a terrible mystery and magic to someone who shoots his own nails?

You would rather believe that for them the Devil's Palm was a magical place that could either kill people, vanish them, or make them appear from nowhere. But for you, until then, the Devil's Palm was just a geomorphological phenomenon.

It was an idea. What would have happened, you imagined, if someone had been present in the Devil's Palm when you made your sudden appearance? You supposed it must have depended on the time you entered. There, if a settler found you in such circ*mstances, no doubt you would have been considered a witch or a fairy. More likely a witch, appearing in that particular place, the Devil's Palm.

Maybe that's exactly where the reputation of the Devil's Palm came from, you thought. If people through the years had suddenly disappeared, or equally suddenly appeared in a certain place, this would be a good reason to acquire a cursed reputation.

You pulled up the blanket and wrapped yourself tightly in it, feeling the bare skin of your breasts pressed against your forearms. You didn't look much like a fairy now, you thought critically. Being overly human in appearance, you could hardly pass yourself off as an elf or an evil spirit of some sort. So the costumes you were left in were those of a crazy, lying woman.

You languidly imagined what would happen if it were someone from this era in your place. What if, on a typical Wednesday going to the Speedwagon Foundation, you met Gyro or Johnny trying to cross the noisy streets? How would you react if someone like them suddenly appeared from the earth beneath your feet?

The most likely reaction, you thought, would be to run to call the police, or perhaps do nothing, other than tell Louise and your other friends about the most extraordinary event you had witnessed the other day.

And what about the traveler? Well, he might be able to fit in at this new time without attracting too much attention, if he was careful and lucky. After all, you were managing to pass, with a certain degree of success, as a normal resident of this time and place, although your appearance and language would certainly have raised many suspicions.

What if, in the meantime displaced, you were to shout out what had happened to you? If you had fallen in primitive times, a strange woman would likely have been raped there or, with luck, just killed with no further questions asked. And in more enlightened times, such as this one, she would probably be considered insane and committed to some institution if she didn't shut up.

This kind of event could have been going on since the beginning of time, you reflected. Even when it happened in front of witnesses, there would be no clue; nothing to tell what happened, because the only person who knows is the one who disappeared. And as for you, the missing one, probably your best option is to keep your mouth shut on this other side of the time connection.

Immersed in your thoughts, you didn't notice the faint murmur of voices from Gyro and Johnny.

''(Y/N)? Are you listening to me? Answer my question!''

''What?''

Raising your eyes, you looked at Johnny, and then at the agitated figure of Gyro, who was more than willing to start an interrogation.

''You said that it took your team three hours to come from Washington to here. But a trip like that would take at least three days.''

"Three days?'' You asked, needing only a few seconds of silence to realize it.

Of course, three days on horseback. You came all this way in a goddamn car.

"She said she was using an automobile, Gyro.'' Johnny replied, although as skeptical as he was.

"Oh, is that right, (Y/N)? As far as I know, automobiles are not faster than horses. By the way, where is this automobile?''

"I... did I say three hours? Ha... I meant three days. You're right, it took us a little less than three days.''

"But then how did you get these documents that were ready in the early hours of yesterday morning?'' Johnny continued.

You didn't answer, you just took a deep breath and slowly closed your eyes. Your priority was no longer to answer questions, just to control yourself so you wouldn't lose your sanity. What's the worst that could happen if you don't answer the questions? Be raped? Be killed? Tortured? You didn't doubt these possibilities one bit, but as suspicious as they were, Gyro and Johnny didn't seem to have Joshua Creed's character. Your head jerked involuntarily, as if you were on a psycho-technical exam where the instructor would just mark a null on the unanswered questions and go on to the next one.

''And what the hell is that?'' After a few seconds, Gyro dictated the next question of the test.

You opened your eyes, curious, and saw the Italian holding your flashlight with a certain degree of suspicion. In these primitive times, it was to be expected that a shiny cylindrical object could be mistaken for a demonic weapon. But the flashlight was not yet on for Gyro to finish his conclusions.

"What do you think?'' You asked in a sarcastic tone as if you were talking to a resident of your century.

"Huh? What do I think? Why the hell do you think I'm asking you? I don't know!''

'' It's a f*cking flashlight, you dumbass.''

He stared at you for a few seconds, in a way that you couldn't help but be afraid of. Then his serious expression turned into a knowing smile.

''You're the woman with the dirtiest mouth I've ever seen.'' He said. "And I still don't know what the hell is a flashlight.''

Without much patience, you took the flashlight from his hands and groped for the on button. The light level was at maximum, because the last time you had used it you had been in a forest at dawn, trying not to trip. When you turned it on, the strong, bright beam had been directed into the trees, illuminating a vast array of shadows and hidden insects that no torch could illuminate.

On your surprise travel, you had not thought much about what you should bring with you. Considering your previous knowledge of the civilizations of the last century and accusations of witchcraft, you would never have brought a flashlight. But you had no choice and no guilt, and it was better that Gyro and Johnny believed it to be some toy from your rich father than a 20th-century commodity.

"Hold it.'' You said.

Gyro held the flashlight, cautiously, like someone handling some unknown and possibly dangerous substance. His large hands covered the handle and pressed a button that made a soft click and the lightwent out. Surprised, Gyro and Johnny looked up at you.

''You have pressed the off button... Press it again.''

In shocked silence, he obediently did as you instructed, turning the flashlight back on. But his finger didn't stop; he kept clicking the big red button repeatedly, turning it on and off, as if to test it.

"What the hell is that?'' He asked, finally leaving it on.

''A flashlight.'' You said again, tired. ''Don't press it so many times or it'll burn out.''

"Flashlight?'' Johnny asked, his cerulean eyes wide with admiration. ''That light... I've never seen anything like it.''

''Yes, it's very different.'' Gyro agreed. ''It's... white.''

You gave a short nasal laugh.

"No, it's not white.'' You said. "But there are white-light flashlights, this one is just older... My father gave it to me.''

" So it's just another rich man's toy?'' Johnny inquired. ''Just like the automobile?''

"Well, yes, you can call it that.''

''And how the hell does it work?'' Gyro questioned, cringing as he looked directly at the small light bulb inside the cylinder for a brief moment.

''There's a lithium battery inside that cylinder. It's from this battery that we get the energy to keep the bulb lit.'' You explained, without worrying whether they would understand or not. ''And, ah, look...''

Unceremoniously, you took the flashlight from Gyro's hand and groped for a small rough spot, a kind of regulating gear hidden in the curve of the flashlight. With it, the light would spread or concentrate on a specific point, a very useful function for an archaeologist who always had to travel at dawn to investigate bones.

''I use it for work. It was with it that I was able to mount the corpse at night. Louise held it out to me as she drank the rest of her vodka.''

''Has your friend been with you all night?'' Johnny asked, taking advantage of the opportunity you'd given him to talk about Louise.

"I don't know... We had too much to drink, I'm sure she doesn't even remember.''

''We'll find out tomorrow.''

You suddenly lifted your face and your eyes met Johnny's. A smile hid at the corner of your mouth at the thought of seeing your friend again, and then you shyly opened your smile to the man. You can't help but feel grateful.

It had been a restless night and it didn't take long for Gyro and Johnny to pack their sleeping bags - Gyro, just as he had done with his mantle, had also provided a pillow and blanket for you to lie on. You appreciated the chivalry, but the voracious mosquitoes in the forest made you insist that the Italian also take cover; after all, you were vaccinated against several mosquito-borne diseases, but he was not.

You were happy when you saw that they fell deeply asleep, already resigned to the fact that you would not be able to sleep tonight. Maybe you were afraid that they would disappear if you slept, because you had already lost all sense of what might or might not be a dream.

Tired, you picked up your flashlight and bent over to pick up the stack of Speedwagon Foundation documents. The blanket slid over your shoulders and the icy wind tickled your breasts through the rip in your blouse - perhaps the priority now, before you even meet Louise, would be to get new clothes.

Flushed, you exasperated and wrapped yourself back in the blanket, sitting with your back against the trunk of a tree, hidden from the view of Gyro and Johnny so that the glow of the flashlight wouldn't wake them. The flowers of grass looked like feathers floating in the air and tickling your skin.

In addition to the necropsy reports, you had taken with you the military and informal dispatches from the university that Thom had confiscated. The vast majority, as you guessed, was about the Steel Ball Run.

You noticed that many letters and remarks were lost along the way - or perhaps they were sent to the addressee along with the holy corpse.

Nevertheless, there were things very useful to convince Gyro and Johnny that you were an archaeologist from the Speedwagon Foundation, among them, reports with your own signature and records with your name next to Thomas Foster. Satisfied with this moment to organize, you sorted through all the papers that could be useful.

After a while, your eyes began to hurt from the efforts of reading old dispatches about Steel Ball Run and deciphering the erudite handwriting of the politicians of the time. Your studies, though promising, were quickly interrupted by a wave of yawns and a migraine that forced you to turn off the flashlight to take a break - you didn't intend to fall asleep that quickly, but you were glad you did.

It was Johnny who found you in the morning, curled up in the trunk of a tree under Gyro's blanket, papers scattered carelessly on the floor where they had fallen when spilling from the folder.

The light penetrated the gaps between the tall leaves, reaching granularly into the camp, but the thick tree trunk had shaded your face, preventing you from waking up with the daylight. The light now began to spill over the velvety curve of the blanket to flicker through strands of your hair.

Your face was transparent in many ways, Johnny thought when he saw your frown that indicated a not-very-pleasant dream you seemed to be having. Soft furrows of tension and discomfort between your eyebrows gave lividity to the skin of your face that seemed carved from ivory.

The blanket had slipped a bit, exposing your shoulders, but still covering the bare breasts that lined the thin fabric. One arm rested loosely across your chest, holding a single crumpled sheet of paper against your body. Johnny lifted your arm carefully, to release the paper without waking you or undressing you. You were languid in your sleep, your skin warm and soft under Johnny's hand.

His eyes soon cleared with the first name he had seen; he knew very well what the paper you were holding was about.

''2th . Stage - Crossing the Arizona Desert to Monument Valley

First place - 150 points - Diego Brando - 18 days, 7 hours and 24 minutes''

He stood still for a few seconds, staring at the paper. His firm fingers were damaging the dried remnants of the printout. He had no intention of returning this paper.

Your eyes opened much later. There was no opening and closing of eyelids, no gentle blinking toward consciousness. Your awakening was mechanical. A frightening ventriloquist dummy eyelid opening.

Awakening from your momentary oblivion, you looked around, looking for any trace of a cleared area that indicated you had woken up in a different era - which, by God, should be 1976.

But instead of hearing the engine of a distant car or smelling diesel fuel, you could only hear the crackling of the ember behind you. Rising cautiously so as not to aggravate your crick, you watched the empty campground.

It was then that you heard a shuffling motion, as if someone had gotten up from their place on a rock, and walked across the grass. However, only the footsteps of one person, you thought.

You stood up as quietly as possible and peered cautiously over your shoulder to see who was nearby. Johnny was there, sitting on a rock a few steps away, his elbows on his knees, his chin buried in his hands. His back was almost to you. You began to back away cautiously, not wanting to intrude on his solitude, when he spoke suddenly.

"Did you sleep well ?'' He said. From the tone of his voice, this was completely indifferent to him.

You came out from behind the tree and started to approach him when you realized that your clothes were still torn. Reflecting that he already had enough to worry about besides being embarrassed by you, you discreetly wrapped yourself in the blanket before emerging.

"I guess so.''

You sat down next to him and leaned back on a rock, watching him a little shyly. Other than a slight nod, he ignored you, absorbed in his not-so-pleasant thoughts, judging by the somber frown on his face. One of his feet tapped nervously on the stone where he was sitting and twisted his fingers, closing them, then extending them with a force that made several joints crack.

It was the clicking of the knuckles that reminded you of Thomas Foster. He was faced with employee layoffs, harassment claims in the building, orders that never arrived (and that meant missing hundred-year-old corpses), and the endless nonsense of the Speedwagon Foundation bureaucracy, as well as his own personal problems, such as an indifferent wife and a son who had begun to sympathize with the Punk movement.

Normally a pleasant and quiet man, when frustrations became too much, he would retreat to his office and punch the wall behind the door with all the strength he could muster. You, while evaluating fossils in your laboratory next door, watched in fascination as the fragile wall of pressed fibers shuddered under the impact of his blows. A few moments later, Thom emerged again, knuckles bruised, but again quiet, to embrace you from behind and desire you.

Seeing Johnny on the rock trying to disjoint his own fingers, you were reminded of how Thomas faced his own problems.

''You should hit something.'' You said.

"Huh?'' He nodded in your direction, surprised, apparently oblivious to your presence.

"Hit something.'' You advised. "You'll feel much better afterward.''

His mouth moved, and in that movement you saw for the first time the strangely beautiful blue lipstick he was wearing. He seemed about to say something, but instead just smiled.

"Thank you.'' He said. "But the men I've met who do that aren't very nice people. I avoid being the same.''

You sat for a moment in awkward silence. You didn't want to mention anything about your past or your friend. Finally, Johnny broke the silence by saying:

''Why do you have papers of the Steel Ball Run stages?''

''Huh?''

"You slept holding this paper.'' He held it out to you. ''Why?''

"Ah... this isn't mine.'' You hitched yourself to the truth. "My boss, Thomas, used to investigate this race. It's because of him that I know about some scandals involving terrorists and corpses.''

"And why did you bring this?''

"I...''

You couldn't think of a plausible explanation. The truth was that, high, you simply wanted to do your boss as much damage as possible. You and your friend stole everything of value from that building, including the marijuana cigarettes from Louise's perverted colleague.

''I shouldn't have this, you know...'' You said, smiling ruefully. ''I stole all those reports and dispatches from the company, as well as the corpse.''

"Really?'' Shocked, Johnny frowned and waited for her answer intently. "And why did you steal it?''

''Because... I couldn't take it anymore. You wouldn't understand, you'll never understand. I knew this corpse was different, I knew that... Oh, God, I had no idea what a mess I'd gotten myself into, I was a fool, and I'll never forgive myself that Louise is here now... It's my fault, I convinced her to run away with the corpse...''

"Hey, hey, hey...'' Excited by the new wave of information, but confused at the same time, Johnny interrupted you. ''Let's take it easy. Why did you steal the corpse?''

"I don't know...''

''Okay, fine... From who did you steal the corpse?''

You took a deep breath, understanding that Johnny wanted to help you organize your thoughts.

"From the Speedwagon Foundation. The corpse was in the custody of Thomas Foster, my boss.''

''All right, Thomas Foster... Now, again, why did you steal the corpse from him?''

"Because... Because he was a f*cking bastard. A traitor, a liar, a pervert. He wanted to get rid of me and thought I'd be stupid enough to pull it off! Now... that bastard must be desperate. The reports, the corpse, and two missing employees. It's all going to end up in his file.''

"Well, I'm sure you're not stupid. But do you even have any idea how much trouble you've caused by stealing this corpse?''

No. You thought. I was drunk and high, obviously I had no idea.

"Well, now I have... I didn't know that... Well, I didn't realize my travel to New Jersey would be so long.''

" So. .. you're an archeologist, then?''

You raised your eyes at him, laughing tiredly.

"Yes. For the tenth time, yes, I am an archaeologist. Why?''

''Hmm... I met an archaeologist a few years ago. I remember his name well, maybe you know him...'' He said. "Doctor Ferdinand.''

You obviously didn't know him, you thought sarcastically.

"No, I don't. Was he a friend of yours?''

"No. Not at all.'' Johnny sighed, staring into the distance, then showing you the paper he was holding again. "I met him at the race.''

You already knew Johnny had participated in the Steel Ball Run, it was even what you had seen on the same paper he was holding, his name right after Gyro Zeppeli.

''Was he a runner?''

"No, but I met him because of a runner. Do you recognize this name?''

Johnny's thin fingers groped over a name on the paper, whose belonged to the first runner. Diego Brando. You didn't recognize the first name or the person, but the last name. A terrible coincidence that would trigger a wave of suspicion from Johnny and Gyro about you. After all, how the hell would you know that Don Corleone was not the only Brando in the world?

"Diego Brando...'' You read it out loud. "Oh... I understand.''

"You understand?''

''Yes... I, ah... I don't know this guy. I don't think he's related to Luca.'' You said, trying to sound as convincing as you could. ''I mean... there are a lot of Brando's out there.''

"Maybe you're right, I must be thinking too much.'' He stammered. ''After all, Dio is British.''

''Dio? So this is the Dio guy?'' Curious, you raised your eyes to Johnny.

So Dio, besides having strong connections with the government, was a rival of Gyro and Johnny within the race? Not only that, but he was also one of the competitors who was collecting the corpse parts? You were happy to see that things made more and more sense, but the more you understood the situation, the guiltier you felt for having brought up the issue of the corpse that, for them, had been sealed away in a bunker for two years. But it wasn't your fault, was it? How could you know that the corpse, or even the Devil's Palm, possessed time-altering properties?

You knew about time travel as much as you knew about dinosaurs; you had studied a little about it in books and universities, but most of your knowledge came from movies. You knew, however, that traveling to the future didn't present much risk, but traveling to the past could create paradoxes. What if you killed your grandfather? Or, less bloodily, what if your journey changed things and your mother never married your father? Would you disappear?

Yes, that's what Back to the Future is all about, but every day you were more certain that you could survive without a DeLorean.

What if you changed some important past event? Would that change the future of the event - your own past?

''And where is Gyro?'' Trying to distract from the subject, you asked.

''He went out to check the surroundings, looking for any trace of Creed's gang.'' Johnny answered. "And, ah... maybe he wants to stay a little away from us.''

"Us?''

You wouldn't be surprised if Gyro didn't want to look at your face again after your threats in the restaurant, even if he did flirt with you last night, but Johnny?

They just had a reunion after a year separated by the vastness of the ocean. Why would he want to stay away from Johnny?

"You said you knew Gyro's real name.'' He reminded you, frowning as he looked at you. "Please, lady, tell me you were bluffing. I'm the only person who should know his real name, and it's suspicious, to say the least, that you know it too, right after riding with me.''

'' I'm ... I'm sorry, I didn't think it was that important. I mean, you left me no choice!''

"This name... If you're not bluffing, I'm dead, and so will you.'' Johnny explained with an extremely worried and desperate tone. ''Gyro thinks I told you his name, and made a point of describing how he would make us eat his steel balls when you woke up.''

You can't help laughing, even if you're just as scared as Johnny. You were tired of lying, because you knew you weren't any good at it, but apparently the need would never leave you.

"Iulius Caesar Zeppeli .'' You said softly, so that only Johnny could hear. His expression changed from veiled concern at the possibility to despair punctuated by certainty. "I wasn't bluffing... but I can tell him that I was.''

You didn't notice Johnny was holding his breath until you see him sigh with relief.

"You'd better say that. And for God's sake, don't ever play with Gyro again.''

''I know... it was very unwise of me to play with an executioner.''

'' Let's pretend you never said that name and that you don't know he's an executioner.''

You laughed again at Johnny's concern.

"Fair enough.''

Chapter 10: A Friend Of Yours

Chapter Text

You heard the crowd long before it appeared. The voices echoed in the pit of your stomach as if you were as hollow as the drums they played. The sound carried through the crowd. The loud military speech could be heard above any noise. You saw people look away as they fell silent, staring at the expanse of Tuckertown's main street.

It was a hot day, even for you who had already spent the holidays in Florida. The best places were by the sea, where the breeze blew, but where you were, it was like being roasted alive. Your new clothes were already soaked, and your linen blouse was sticking to your chest with sweat. You dried your face for the tenth time in a few minutes and raised your hair, waiting for the cold wind to blow on your neck.

At the moment, you were very tense, and when you breathed in, the hot, humid air took your throat as if to choke you. You pulled your restless hand away from your neck and took the deepest breath you could - which turned out to be a mistake. Gyro must not have bathed for at least two weeks, for his clothes gave off a sour, rancid odor, strong even amid the smell of sweat from the crowd. The smell of food coming from the restaurants - hot bread and fried pork - mixed with the strong salty odor of rotting seaweed on the shore, and the breeze did little to soften it.

There were several children in front of you, stretching out their necks to peek, running into the shade of the oaks and palms to look down at the street, and anxious parents calling them back. The girl closest to you had a very white, long neck that made you think of a stalk of celery.

There was a rush of commotion through the crowd; you could see the procession of gallows at the end of the street. The drumbeats got louder.

''What's going on?'' Gyro muttered, bending his neck to see. ''Are those the bastards we didn't kill?''

''Yeah.'' Johnny replied.

You wanted to stand on your tiptoes, but you thought that would be undignified. But you looked around, searching, and finding nothing more than Gyro's broad back in front of you. He was taller than most men and the light reflected off his hair with a golden sheen.

A few flags fluttered. You didn't know that public executions were still allowed anywhere outside the Western United States, so the imminence of an execution like this made you very tense.

In a slow, sadly inexorable march, the condemned emerged. The first man was short and strong, dazed and staggering, a dragging ruin so that the black-robed cleric walking beside the prisoners was obliged to hold his arm lest he fall.

''Is that a prisoner? He looks sick.'' You muttered to Johnny.

''He's drunk.'' The soft voice came next to you, you turned and saw Johnny with his eyes fixed on the procession. ''They are the terrorists we caught last night.''

From thieves, they became terrorists. The little man's unsteadiness hindered the progress of the procession, as his stumbling gait forced the two men chained to him to zigzag to keep up. The impression they gave was of three drunks returning home from an open bar.

''Do you get anything for helping capture these criminals?'' You asked quietly, so as not to attract attention, but you could have shouted and waved your arms; no one was paying attention to anything but the scene in front of you.

You felt rather than saw Johnny's shrug as he hurried to stand near you.

''Usually, yes.'' He said. ''But since it was an informal operation, I can say I'm working for free.''

''And that's the sheriff?'' You looked at the man standing next to the line of gallows, his badge glinting against the sunlight.

''Yeah, he looks busy, it's better for us.'' Johnny said, appraising the sheriff with experienced eyes.

The sheriff was very red among the white of his linen blouse and the brown of the hat, as much from fury as from the sun. He voiced an order as the drunken prisoner fell face-first onto the dirt road, pulling one of his companions to the ground, and escaping the cleric's hand. The crowd shouted and laughed with excitement. The prisoners were lifted by the guards without any ceremony, and the procession resumed in better order.

No one laughed when they reached the gallows. You felt a little sick from the sun and the smells. Most of the voices stopped suddenly and silence rang in your ears.

''You don't need to see that, (Y/N).'' Said Johnny. ''Go to the police department to find your friend.''

He stared unblinkingly at the prisoners, who jostled and grumbled as they were held down by the soldiers.

The last thing you wanted to see was that. But you couldn't part with Gyro and Johnny either. The events of last night were still stuck in the membranes of your memory and the shock of being attacked like that was still vivid in your chest. The possibility of being attacked on some street corner was suffocating.

''I'm staying.''

Johnny straightened up, squaring his shoulders, while Gyro maintained his relaxed cross-armed stance and bad posture.

The eyes of one of the prisoners turned to the three of you and he stopped struggling at the same instant. You didn't know exactly what Gyro and Johnny wanted to do, standing in that crowd, watching such a grotesque display.

The short man's body stood swaying slowly from side to side as the charge was read out: kidnapping, attempted armed robbery, disturbance of public order... He was covered in a cloud of reddish dust, and drops of sweat clung tremulously to his failing beard. The cleric was leaning over, whispering quickly in his ear.

''I recognize that bastard...'' Gyro said, not bothering to speak quietly and in a voice not as proud as it should be. ''I hit my steel ball right in his face.''

You wouldn't have noticed if Gyro hadn't mentioned it, but now you could see that the man had a single, exceptionally painful bruise on his temple that made you wonder how he had survived such a blow - and Gyro was probably wondering the same thing.

The executioner slipped the rope over the bald head and pinned it down tightly. You glanced at Gyro, expecting him to be somehow proud of his capture; but he seemed to have a much colder, more melancholy expression than anyone else in the crowd. The knot was precisely positioned, and Gyro's lip suddenly compressed in tension and he took a few steps back. You didn't want to and couldn't move in that crowd, so you unconsciously stayed leaning against Johnny, not wanting to risk separating from him to follow Gyro, as much as you didn't want to see that execution.

The sheriff remained still. Suddenly, the condemned man straightened up. Looking at Johnny, he opened his mouth as if he intended to speak.

You glanced back at Gyro, trying not to see the scene; he was pale-lipped and wide-eyed. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw the rope stretching and the faint, involuntary thud of the hanging bag of clothes. A strong stench of urine and feces hung in the heavy air.

The body swayed a little, a dead weight swinging like a plumb line. The crowd sighed, surprised and relieved. Terns squawked in the sky, and the sounds of the harbor came faintly and spread through the heavy atmosphere, but silence prevailed. From where you stood, you could see the faint splash of drops falling from the tip of the corpse's shoe.

You didn't know any of those men and you didn't feel sadness for their deaths, but you were glad they were quick. You glanced briefly at one of the hanged man, with an odd sense of intrusion. It was a very public way to perform a very private act, and you felt a little embarrassed to be looking.

The executioner knew what he was doing; there was no undignified struggle, no wide eyes or tongue sticking out, like in the movies. The small head of the first condemned man just tilted to the side at once, his neck stretched out grotesquely and totally broken.

It was a clean execution in more ways than one. Gyro, on the other hand, was pale as a ghost. You found that very strange. Hadn't Thom said that he succeeded a long line of executioners? If even you, a simple modern woman, weren't so shaken by the scene, why on earth would he have looked like that?

At the same moment, a shout was heard from the crowd, and a wave of excitement soon spread. People turned their heads and pushed against each other, straining to see where there was nothing to be seen.

''He's gone! Stop him!'' They said.

The second prisoner, a young man, had seized the moment of his partner's death to run and save himself, past the guard who should have been watching him, but who had been unable to resist the allure of the gallows.

You saw a slight movement behind a wagon. Some of the guards saw it too and ran towards it, but many others were running in other directions, and amidst the collisions and confusion, nothing was being done.

The sheriff was screaming, his face red, his voice almost inaudible above the commotion. The remaining prisoner, frightened, was picked up and dragged back toward the police department while the other guards began to reorganize under the sheriff's orders.

Johnny slipped an arm around your waist and pulled you out of the way of a wave of people. The crowd surged back in front of the advancing guards, who formed up and marched quickly to guard the area, under the sheriff's serious and angry command.

''Johnny!'' You said, surprised at being suddenly pulled up. ''Wait! Where's Gyro?''

The question made him pause for a moment as he remembered his friend. Then he looked back, sweeping his half-closed eyes across the bustling crowd.

''He sure went after the guy.'' Johnny said, guiding you back to a quieter place. ''Let's find your friend, you've seen enough for today.''

You made your way through the crowd towards the empty police station, squeezing between the excited gossipers, dodging the wagons and handcarts that followed with the typical indifference of commerce.

''Watch your pocket, (Y/N).'' Johnny murmured in your ear, leading you through a narrow space between a woman holding two small children and a street preacher perched on a box. He was shouting something about sin and repentance, but amid the noise, you could understand only one word in three.

"I have nothing to be stolen.'' You said in a sarcastic tone.

He smiled and tilted his head forward, narrowing his blue eyes in the sunlight. In this way, he took his hand from your waist to hold you by the arm as you reached the door of the police station.

You felt empty again, even though you had eaten at the camp. With your lips pressed together, you straightened up to enter the dark refuge of the police station. As expected, there was no office more competent than the sheriff in that town, and the station had to be under the watchful eye of a scrawny recruit, leaning against the bench, drowsy. He straightened up when you entered and, after being surprised by your appearance and that of the man behind you, as people always were, he guided you through the narrow, dark corridors.

"She hasn't said a word since we found her." Said the recruit, staring dazedly at you, waiting for an answer that didn't come. ''I'll take you to her.''

''Thank you.'' You wiped the sweat from your forehead with the sleeve of your blouse. Even in there, the heat was unbearable.

''You're related to her, then?" The recruit asked, still looking at you curiously.

''Yes... well, not exactly. Where is she?''

''In the third cell in this corridor.''

''Cell?" Johnny inquired behind you, indignant. ''Did you put the girl in a cell?"

''No, don't get me wrong!'' Said the young guard. ''She didn't seem to be feeling well, so we put her in the only cell that has a bed until someone came to pick her up. You'll see, it's the only cell with an open door."

You were honestly not interested, and the recruit staggered back with a cry of surprise as you pushed him and took off down the corridor like a possessed bat.

The cell seemed brighter than the others, and the light from outside did a good job of illuminating the place. You blinked, your eyes bothered by the sunlight coming through the bars of the cell. Then a movement in the corner of the dingy cubicle caught your eye.

She was sitting up in bed, her head below her knees, as if she wanted to vomit. She was half turned away from you, leaning over, concentrating on who knows what. A tall, long-legged woman, with broad shoulders beneath her grimy blouse. She wore faded pants in pale shades of green and brown.

You had to blink a few more times to make sure you weren't crazy. To make sure she was real. She noticed the commotion in the corridor and turned around. She saw you at that moment, standing there, looking at her, and tensed a little, fingers curling. Then she raised her head and looked past the men's clothes, and the look of suspicion changed to surprise as she saw your face.

You didn't have the slightest doubt as soon as you saw her. You were surprised and not surprised at the same time. It was Louise, and she had the same facial features as Louise: a long, straight nose, a delicate jaw, and mint eyes.

She stood up, shocked, and walked towards you, stepping out of the shadow of the cell, and the sun lit her hair, creating copper sparks. Her face was dirty and there was a small bruise her cheek, but her eyes still shone, softened by kindness.

''Louise?" You said. Your heart seemed stuck in your throat; you found it hard to say anything.

She felt a huge wave of joy and relief at hearing your voice, a chill in her stomach that echoed the rush of blood. You were out of breath; what hadn't been taken by the shock was being ripped away by a rib-crushing hug.

''It's you!" She exclaimed, mustering the strength to smother you and lift you into this embrace. You could feel the same as she did: excitement, joy, and longing, all together. You had no time for anything else as you were lifted into the air, literally and figuratively.

''Louise!'' You managed to scream, and she put you down, but didn't let go. You looked at her in disbelief, but she was real. After being spun around inside the cell, you were facing the door. You looked for Johnny and he was standing next to her. He said nothing, but gave you a shy smile, his ears pink.

"I... I can't believe it... you're alive!" She said weakly.

''I... ah... I can't believe you're alive either!" You said like a fool.

''Oh my God, (Y/N), what the hell is all this?''

Despite the cloud of helplessness, you knew exactly what she meant. Her gaze was direct, staring into your eyes as she waited for an answer. You wanted to look away, but you couldn't.

''I guess... You've been here as long as I have. You've seen the city, you've seen the men... you've seen the prisons.''

''I've been here before, (S/N). Not in Tuckertown, but on the outskirts. There was nothing like it. They had a map, and I looked at it to get my bearings... but at least five towns were missing. I saw that we were supposed to be in Nugentown, but that name just doesn't exist here!''

At first, she didn't understand the reason for your silence, until she followed your eyes and found a tall, blond man watching the two, and by his clothes, he was definitely not a policeman.

''Louise... Meet Johnny.'' You nodded at him and saw that he looked more confused than your friend, after hearing what she said. "Johnny, this is Louise.''

''You...'' She muttered, cowering like a dog that lowers its ears for another. ''You look a lot like the guy from last night.''

''Oh, you must be talking about my friend Gyro.'' Johnny calmly explained himself. ''It's a pleasure, miss.''

The next few minutes were taken up with a short but difficult conversation. Louise still looked shocked, inert, not really knowing what was real and what was not. And you all the time tried to look as real as possible so that your friend wouldn't get lost in the confines of time travel insanity. She seemed just as confused as you, however, this was a great help in allowing Johnny to put a little more credibility to his story.

Louise and Johnny didn't interact as much as you expected. You imagined that Johnny was ready to start an interrogation, but the shock of the reunion had lingered in a conversation that was exclusive to you and your friend, and Johnny was there only as a listener - or else he was simply waiting for Gyro to return.

Gyro was what people in your time called 'always looking like a ten', with a tall, strong body and a broad chest. His features were heavy but ruggedly handsome. A few inches taller than Johnny, he moved with ease, balanced on his heels, as he carried on one shoulder one of the condemned men who had escaped from the gallows. You can't deny that you were surprised that he had managed to capture that man and then find you and Johnny in about five minutes.

But at least now you knew that if you needed a quick and clean service, Gyro was the perfect candidate.

''I guess you like being a bounty hunter.'' Said Johnny, relieved that his friend was back and that he no longer had to be alone with you and Louise, being actively excluded from the conversation that did not interest him at all.

Johnny, like Gyro, was also very handsome, and you could see that when he stood up and picked up the knocked-out body of the fugitive, relieved that his friend had made the effort. He was used to fights, you thought, judging by the scar on his cheeks. The small imperfections couldn't detract from the overall impression of animal magnetism. Gyro and Johnny were the kind of men who attracted women with ease. Some women, you corrected, as Gyro cast a speculative glance at Louise.

You glanced back at Johnny, curious at the fleeting glimpse of the two scars on his cheeks. At first, you'd thought they were natural dimples as if God had stuck his two thumbs in during the miracle of creation; but then, looking more closely, you saw the misshapen marks of sutures. Something or someone had torn his cheeks somehow, and they were sewn back together.

''Oh, he...'' Louise turned to you covertly, bewildered, judging by the embarrassed expression on her face. ''He's the one I saw yesterday.''

''Ah...'' You forced a smile, trying to convince her and yourself that now was not the time to worry, no matter how much Johnny carried a knocked-out man on his shoulders. ''That's Gyro. Gyro, this is Louise.''

''Yeah, I know.'' You saw Gyro say with a golden smile that contrasted his previous expression during the hanging. ''We had a chance to meet last night.''

''Apparently, yes.'' You sighed.

''Well, it was the same thing as asking a Morlock to save me.'' She said, with a hint of cynicism, and looked at you, then at Gyro. ''But... thank you. Thank you for last night. If I had known (Y/N) was with you I wouldn't have...''

''Wouldn't you have bitten me?'' Gyro interrupted her with good humor, giving a wink and a golden-toothed smile that made Louise's eyes widen. ''It's okay, women always bite me.''

You laughed, not sure if it was because Louise called Gyro a Morlock or because you were just now learning of one of the events of that night.

Johnny leaned over slightly as he carried the knocked-out prisoner on his shoulders, and felt a slight stirring as an indication that the man was about to wake up. Straightening up, Johnny simply began to walk without saying anything, in a direction that he seemed to know exactly where he was going. The muscles of his forearms protruded from beneath the thin fabric of his wristband as he carried the prisoner, head hanging, to a street corner and disappeared around it.

Gyro, noticing his friend's sudden absence, nodded for you and your friend to follow, and you did.

''(Y/N)... Who's that guy Johnny's holding?'' Louise asked, whispering so Gyro wouldn't hear, but you figured he did.

''One of the guys who was with you. Do you recognize him?''

Louise narrowed her eyes and looked at the man in the distance for a few seconds, and she realized that Gyro and Johnny were the only easily recognizable people in that place.

''No...'' She concluded. ''I mean, maybe. I don't remember much.''

''You don't remember? What do you mean?''

''I... they knocked me out. I was out cold most of the time. I just remember...''

"Gyro, come here!'' You heard Johnny interrupt and shout to his friend, indicating for him to open the door to an old barn.

''Nyo-ho... let's leave our friend in a more private place, then?''

A little afraid to look them in the eye, you stopped following them and stood next to Louise. Before opening the door, Gyro turned to check on you when he saw you make a simple, strange questioning gesture toward the unconscious man.

''I see there's a stable near here.'' Gyro said, nodding his head slightly. ''You ladies can wait for us there. And choose two horses, too. And, ah...''

Well, judging by the money Gyro had given you, you'd only get the sugar cubes he'd asked for. As for the horses... you didn't know how to choose horses, and you figured you couldn't afford to judge by the prettiest or the strongest.

"He said to pick two horses, didn't he?'' You asked Louise.

''I think so...'' She confirmed, as uncertain as you. ''Do you know how to pick horses?''

''No. Do you?''

''I've never even been near a horse.''

''Ah... f*ck.''

Leaving the outside, you walked through a small fence towards the stable. You and Louise agreed that, like it or not, you needed a good companion who wasn't human, who didn't talk and didn't hurt. Also, you both had in mind that you should wait for Gyro and Johnny and perhaps apologize for involving them again in all the confusion about the corpse. They seemed to be doing quite well, but surely they wouldn't have even gone back to look for the corpse, preferring to be left to their own business and family matters. As for what you needed to talk to Louise about, you'd rather not think about it.

As for the seriousness of your situation, you preferred not to think about that either, but you couldn't help but do it sooner or later. Having failed so spectacularly in your attempt to steal and sell the corpse in your own era, you wondered if the chances of returning there would be any better. But how long could that take? Days? Months? Regardless of how long it took, you and Louise knew that the police station was waiting for you.

There were a good number of animals like cows, goats and pigs there, quiet in their pens. You and your friend walked slowly along the corridor of the stable, considering different ways of getting home. There were no horses in that place. Louise opened a small stable door and her heart leaped a little at the sight of a man sitting on a bale of hay and sharpening a small hunting knife. He seemed almost as surprised by your arrival.

You realized, however, that shopping has never been very complicated for all the millennia that humanity and commerce have existed. "I'd like five dollars worth of sugar cubes" sounded like "I'd like five dollars worth of lollipops".

Just like "Do you have horses for sale?" sounded like "Can you show me the cleaning products aisle?".

"Horses? Yes, of course, we do.'' The man replied as he packed up the sugar cubes. ''Any preferences? We have horses that are great for women.''

You and Louise raised an eyebrow and looked at each other, but you couldn't deny that whatever a horse that was great for women proposed, it was of interest to you.

"Well... by that you mean the horse is docile?'' Louise questioned.

''Yes, docile, affectionate, they don't need to feel that there is a rider on them to obey commands.''

''Ah... well... Yes, maybe one like that is better.''

Although the stableman did not have the courtesy to hide his opinions on the intelligence of women in general, you could not afford to diverge from this and choose a horse you could not ride.

"Which are the most docile?'' You asked as the stableman led you down the corridor full of long, neighing heads.

''Judas and Vegas.''

''Vegas?'' Louise gave a soft familiar smile and looked at you, who quickly understood the coincidence. You wondered, for a moment, where the inspiration for the name came from, since Las Vegas would still be a decade away. ''What breed are they?''

''Mountain Pleasure.'' The stableman replied, and Louise acted as if she knew what that meant.

''Oh, they're... docile.'' She said, and the horseman squinted at her.

"Yes, miss, that's what I said.''

You held back a laugh and finally arrived at where Judas and Vegas stood, grazing in a paddock with two other larger horses. The stableman, not lacking for occupation, quickly ushered the horses in, figuring you and Louise would still be deciding whether or not to buy them - and he didn't seem at all willing to go along with the whole decision process.

''Vegas is the black Overo, Judas is the Sabino. I'll leave you ladies to look at other horses. In case you want anything else, I'm on the other side of the stable, I need to change a mare's horseshoes.''

You and Louise nodded and politely thanked him. Then you spent a few minutes watching the horses.

"Do you know what a Sabino is?'' Louise asked, crossing her arms.

''No... Do you know what a black Overo is?''

''No, but it must be the one full of black spots.'' She pointed to the respective horse. ''That must be Vegas... I like his name. I like Las Vegas.''

''Have you ever been to Las Vegas?''

''No, but Luca said he would take me there one day...'' She sighed heavily, looking down for a moment. ''Poor guy, he must be desperate right now... He must have thought I was a bitch for not going to the date.''

"Shut up.'' You said, shaking your head. ''That must have been the last thing on his mind. There's probably a whole squad of cops looking for you by now.''

''And for you too.''

''Yes, but certainly to arrest me.''

She let out a small nasal laugh and leaned on the fence, still looking at the horses. Judas and Vegas were grazing quietly, not even having noticed her presence, young and gleaming. Black Overo, as the name implied should be the most aloof horse that could easily be mistaken for a spotted cow, Vegas had his charm.

The other three grazing horses were a brown pair and one closer to Vegas. You didn't know what a Sabino horse was, but you guessed that one was Judas when you saw the sheen of his crème-colored coat dotted with brownish freckle-like spots.

Louise had talked vaguely at first about the surrounding countryside, about the stables, the animals and the smell of fish after they had done their shopping. Other than that, Louise said nothing that wasn't asked - and you feared you wouldn't be able to ask certain questions to find out what happened yesterday.

You sat on the fence, still watching the horses while holding the packet of sugar cubes next to Louise for what you imagined was ten or fifteen minutes. There was something wrong. Of course, everything was wrong. But there was something especially wrong with Louise. Something beyond the bruises and the cuts. Something in her silence, in her ability to simply accept that she was in another era.

The Louise you knew was explosive, emotional, capable of turning an entire office into a hurricane on pure impulse. If the real Louise were on your side, she'd be shooting all over the place, offending all the cowboys and destroying all those rustic, ridiculously faithful 19th-century buildings.

Moreover, you noticed something you found particularly curious: although her beauty had been slightly faded by her injuries, you realized with definitive clarity, at a moment so hopelessly late, how much she resembled a painting you had seen in a museum. Vanity, by Cowper: the same nose, the same beauty of indistinct features. Your hand closed and opened as you looked at the horses and Louise at her own feet. Vanity. A beautiful painting, which at this very moment is some 15 years removed from its creation. Not even the paint or the brushes used to paint it exist now and you, only you, have had the privilege of existing in this era after having glimpsed this and so many other works of art that do not yet exist.

Louise was a very beautiful woman, but above all, a woman. You feared for the worst that had happened in that gang and felt a certain regret for her and for all the times you foolishly felt threatened by her joviality, that you had to make an effort not to create any rivalry with your friend. But at the same time, you were relieved that away from the company you would no longer feel this urge.

''Are you alright?'' You asked after a long time of silence.

''Yes, better now. Are you all right?''

''I think so...''

''How did you get the help of those two guys?''

''Well... ah, it's a long story.''

''Then just tell me why those two decided to help us. They don't seem like the kind of guys who would do that.''

''Gyro and Johnny are looking for the man who took the corpse... We need to find him.'' You said, uncomfortable with the situation.

''No, we don't.'' She said with a firmness that surprised you and then raised her head. ''The corpse is not with him.''

''Yes, I know that, but we need to find him.''

''I... don't know if that's a good idea.''

You frowned, finding it strange. Louise was too hesitant, too cautious.

''Why? What's wrong, Louise?''

''Why are we still talking about the corpse, (Y/N)? We...'' This time, her voice would have sounded impatient if it hadn't been interrupted by a loud announcement just behind you.

''Ladies, I hope you have chosen your horses.'' At first, you thought it was the stableman. But when you turned around, you saw Gyro loudly interjecting your conversation, carrying two dusty saddles on his shoulders. From his grimace of pain, the leather of one of the saddles had caught in his hair as he went to drop them to the ground.

Despite your initial fright, you paid attention to what he said and what he was doing.

"What did you do to the poor bastard?'' You asked, looking at Johnny who had arrived shortly after.

Feeling unconsciously pressured, Johnny rushed forward.

''We just asked a few questions and handed him over to the authorities.'' He replied.

You sighed, feeling a little foolish. What did you expect, that they were torturing the man? That they had killed him? Brutal as they were, Gyro and Johnny didn't seem like that kind of man.

"And did he say anything?'' You continued, climbing down from the fence.

''Yeah, but I'm sure your friend might have more information than any of Creed's guys.'' With a look of suspicion sharp enough to make you feel offended for your friend, Johnny said.

Despite the general cloud of suspicion and curiosity, no one there seemed willing to talk about this right now.

Gyro sighed as he managed to free himself from one of the saddles stuck in his hair, and stood up with a heady relief. He puffed out his chest and took a deep breath of the air, gazing out over the wide expanse of fields, glowing emerald green between the straight, dark rows and branches that formed a barrier against the wind. Dusty or not, the pure air of the Americas was fresh and soothing, especially after the smell of the ports of Naples.

Louise had agreed, as a gesture of cautious goodwill towards the two men's attempts at interrogation, to allow you to take control of these discussions. And when it wasn't you who decided the main issue, it was Gyro, who looked at you and your friend with a lopsided smile on his face.

''You'll be going home soon, and we'll be going to Stafford Township. But you'll need horses because I'm not giving anyone a ride. Have you chosen yet?"

Squinting, you saw Louise's eyes light up at what he had said, but not in a pleased way.

''Home? Did you say home?'' She questioned.

''Yes, your friend said you live in Washington, didn't she? Well, we'll take you to the station, and then you'll be on your own."

''Washington? Station?'' Louise's mouth slackened as she realized he wasn't saying the things she or you wanted to hear. ''But, (Y/N)...''

''Ah, we...'' You realized before it was too late the clear confusion in Louise's gaze that quickly infected Gyro and Johnny's raised eyebrows. ''We can talk about this later. Let's go see those damn horses.''

Chapter 11: Here In The Real World

Chapter Text

''Judas? That's such a bad name.'' Gyro said, as soon as you introduced the horses while jumping over the fence to analyze your choice. ''Doesn't sound very trustworthy.''

''The man at the stables said they're the most docile.'' You said, stepping through the open gate of the paddock to follow Gyro, as Louise watched Johnny clean and adjust the saddle and stirrups. ''Mountain Pleasure, or something like that.''

Gyro looked at you and laughed. A different laugh, but genuine. His green eyes were narrowed with amusem*nt and, leaning over, he looked at the horses, and then at you again, and laughed some more.

''What?'' You held back your smile, somewhat offended, but you couldn't deny that his laughter was contagious. ''What's wrong?''

''Wrong? Oh, nothing! Nyo-ho-ho!'' He said, if he laughed more, he would be breathless. ''Mountain Pleasure? I've never seen a Mountain Pleasure spotted like a cow!''

You couldn't help but laugh, though you didn't find it as funny as he did.

''I've never even seen a spotted cow, let alone a Mountain Pleasure.'' You distractedly said.

That comment made Gyro's laughter cease incredulously, he couldn't understand if it was a joke or not. He had seen many absurd things, but someone who had never seen a spotted cow? It was simply too much for him.

''What? You've never seen a cow?''

You paused for a second, realizing what you had said and that it was much harder to explain than when you proved to know things about his family that even he didn't know. To be honest, even you didn't think it was acceptable to have never seen a cow in your life, apart from in pictures or on milk cartons. You spent your life locked up in classrooms, laboratories, offices, in the suffocating bubble of the capital, and in the intoxicating comfort of not having to walk more than two blocks to get some milk - that is when the salesman didn't come to your door, offering the milk in very well sterilized glass bottles.

''I, ah...'' You couldn't say it was a joke, because you wouldn't go through the embarrassment of telling an unfunny joke. ''No. Only in... you know, paintings.''

He was dumbfounded, not only with surprise but with revulsion.

''What the hell are you, miss?'' He questioned, giving you an odd smile where you felt a hint of concern. ''A princess?''

''Oh, I wish.'' You replied, eager to get the subject over with. ''I just don't get out of my house much.''

''And when you go out, you make a huge mess, don't you?'' This time the worried smile returned to normal. ''Don't worry, on the way to the station I'll make sure to show you some cows.''

''Ah, Gyro, about this going to the station thing, I'd like to talk about it...''

''Let's have a look at you, mate.'' Gyro interrupted you, but was talking to the black and white horse.

Vegas looked at him with interest, but shook his head. You just dropped your sentence and watched him in silence. You were still thinking about how you've never seen a cow - actually, not a whole cow. You'd worked with bovine tongues and eyes in your lab, but you figured it was the same thing as a piece of steak at the supermarket.

The gold-colored snakes of Gyro’s hair came down glistening, skimming his face in the wind. It was not a beauty like Gorgona's, but that of an earth spirit changing shape, from serpent to magical man. Gyro looked like he had come out of an earthquake or a tornado.

A strong, muscular arm went under Vegas' neck, causing the horse to completely change from a relaxed posture to that of a soldier ready to receive the general's orders.

''Straighten up.'' The man commanded, and you felt the gentle urge to obey him as well as the horse. The voice rose with each command. Though he didn't possess a particularly deep voice, Gyro had enough lung power for three men of normal complexion. ''Good boy.''

He leaned down, running his hand over the belly and legs, as if giving the horse a thorough examination. His hands slid from knee to hoof, and the diagnosis seemed satisfactory as he lavished praise in Italian on the animal, until he stopped by lifting his tail.

Gyro frowned, his face six inches from the horse's wide hip. His expression made you curious, so you slowly walked over, at a safe distance, so you could see what was wrong, and it took a few seconds for both you and Gyro to realize what it was.

"That's not a horse.'' Gyro said, standing up with a slight gesture of an angry customer.

''So I'm seeing a cow for the first time?'' You laughed and crossed your arms.

When Gyro stepped aside, you could clearly see what Vegas had - or rather, what he didn't have.

''That's a mare!'' He said, looking around for the stableman. ''Lying about the breed isn't enough? Johnny, come here!''

The full-blown roar caught Johnny's attention and, figuring it was something serious, he dropped his task of watching Louise and the saddles to come to his friend's rescue. You couldn't help but laugh as you witnessed the lengthy debate started by the men about a horse's missing testicl*s - which led Gyro to go over to other horses and crouch under their tails to draw his own conclusions.

When you laughed, however, the debate ceased. You stood there, arms crossed, leaning on the fence watching two grown men arguing about equine testicl*s and not liking it when you laughed about it.

''Huh?'' Gyro asked, his frown deepening and his golden teeth clenched. ''What are you laughing at, woman?''

''That's not a mare, idiots. He's just been neutered. That's why the stableman said Vegas was one of the most docile.''

A shocked silence came over the paddock, and Johnny's eyes widened.

''Neutered?'' He looked at Gyro, and then looked at you. ''Are you sure?''

''Damn, who was the monster that did this to you, buddy?'' Gyro asked the horse, now crouching under the horse's belly and confirming, however, that it was a male. ''Why the hell would they rip your balls off?''

''How do you know that, (Y/N)?'' Johnny questioned.

''You don't even know what a cow is, how the hell?'' Gyro added as he stood up again.

Drawing your own conclusions, you figured that castrating large animals like a horse wasn't a very common, affordable or safe practice in the 19th century.

''Ah, well...'' You thought the truth would be more acceptable. ''My father had a dog, Lion, who was neutered. He said it was safer to have a neutered dog in a house with children, because they were more docile. I figured it was like that with horses.''

They stared at you for a few seconds, and you felt slightly embarrassed that you had indulged in the debate.

''Johnny, I know you were a rich boy before I met you.'' Gyro said to his friend, who seemed slightly unresponsive. ''Have you ever seen anything like this?''

''Well... no.'' Johnny replied. ''My father wasn't too fond of pets... but I've never seen a dog without balls. Let alone a horse.''

"Why do you think everything I do has to do with my rich dad?'' You foolishly asked, and they didn't answer.

You sighed and let them carefully analyze the horses, taking the opportunity to talk more with your friend.

With Gyro and Johnny present, you had imagined that your conversations with Louise would often proceed in code, like two Soviet spies. But now you had no subject without questions.

"Will we be able to ride those horses?'' She asked as you sat down beside her on the fence.

''I came here on Gyro's horse, it wasn't too hard.'' You said, blinking as you remembered a detail. ''But don't tell him I rode his horse.''

''Why? Didn't he give you a ride?''

''It's a long story. I came here with Johnny, and he only agreed to take me to this town because he had to come here anyway, to receive Gyro at the port.''

''At the port?''

"Yes, he came straight from Italy.''

She let out a nasal laugh.

''Well, it's kind of obvious he's Italian, isn't it?'' She scoffed, looking at him. ''But then you rode his horse all by yourself?''

''Yes, but don't let him know that.''

''And why is that?''

You snorted, smiling.

''I don't know either. Johnny said it would be better if he didn't know about it.''

''Is he jealous of the horse? That's kind of weird, isn't it?''

You laughed softly, your fingers clenching the soft, old wood of the fence. Your laugh had the joy of a caged bird. You weren't sure what was in store for you and it didn't allow you to genuinely enjoy any kind of peace. You needed to get back home and having Louise by your side was the first step.

''Well... at least we got some vacation time.'' She said.

''Vacation time?''

''Sounds like a vacation, doesn't it? Green fields, horses, beach, two handsome cowboys.''

''Kidnappings, shootings, hangings... I prefer my vacations in Florida.'' You said, looking at her, and saw the humor slowly drain from her relaxed lips.

You needed to go back; you had used up your vacation, plus many extensions. You had problems to sort out with Thom and the Speedwagon Foundation, bills to pay at home, the maintenance of your car, your sink and the garden - you shuddered to think how high the garden range would reach - friends to contact...

But at least Louise was there, and she was your only friend who would believe what you experienced. You've known her since the beginning of your career at the Speedwagon Foundation. Just like you, she stood out among the other interns at the company. You were the only woman among the promising archaeologists and she was the only woman among the brainless HR staff.

This shared uniqueness seemed to grow stronger even away from the workplace; you felt it clearly, though you didn't mention it.

After a few seconds of silence, you decided to broach useful subjects.

''Louise...'' You began. ''Do you know where Creed sent the corpse?''

You could see her eyes without any difficulty. What lay behind them was far more complicated.

''Or do you know anything about some guy named Dio?'' You continued after you saw that she wouldn't answer.

''No... I don't know anything about the corpse. He just took it from me.''

"He already knew what it was about, didn't he?''

''Yeah, maybe he did.''

''Maybe?''

Rest was an illusion, you thought when you saw her face. When you left the 20th century, you left all your peace of mind behind. You now lived in a mixture of fear and anger, peppered with the pain of uncertainty, which rubbed like salt into the wounds. The questions repeated themselves in your mind, without answers, like a snake chasing its tail.

''What did he do?''

Why didn't he keep the corpse?

Why won't she tell you?"

It was very difficult to get an answer to the first of the questions, which made you think and rethink the situation, as if the answer could give you the key to the whole mystery of Louise.

Yes, you had felt as powerless as she seemed to feel. You knew well what it was like to have no options and no one in the world to take away the words stuck in your gullet. But surely that was one of the reasons you didn't ignore her behavior.

''Where the hell did you get these two guys?'' She asked, looking at Gyro and Johnny.

You looked at them too, they were focused on watching Judas' paws.

Gyro clicked his tongue, and Judas obediently took a step towards him, clearly recognizing someone who spoke his language. Johnny held up one leg of the horse so Gyro could look, then Johnny held the mane and with a word or two urged the horse to walk. Then he told it to stop. Gyro climbed into the saddle and trotted gently twice around the stable field, stopping beside his waiting friend.

The two of them worked with the exceptional synchrony that you envied. When one finished doing this, the other started doing that. When Johnny lifted the horse's leg, Gyro would bend down to examine. When Gyro climbed into the saddle, Johnny would adjust the stirrups for him.

Yes, that was the stuff of envy.

"I have no idea.'' You said. ''I almost stabbed Johnny in the chest with a bottle of Smirnoff.''

She laughed, leaning forward like a gargoyle while still watching the two men.

''I forgot how wild you are with a hangover, I wonder what the poor guy had to go through.''

''I wasn't that bad.'' You said, smiling. ''They just had to tie me to a bed.''

''Hm... yeah, it can't have been too bad. The last time I saw you hungover you were tied up in a hospital bed.''

''Johnny was much kinder than those doctors.'' You shuddered at the shameful memory, but kept smiling.

The roosters in that place must be as sleep-deprived as you, you thought, as you heard the distant crowing and the clopping of horses' hooves. Judas jumped when he saw Gyro approaching, lifting his head sharply and shaking it, then stopped as the sudden movement rattled his brain.

You squinted to see how the two men were faring. The blue eye of the man you were peering at slowly glanced up at you, to add to his tired, impatient look. You let your shoulders relax and smiled sympathetically at him.

''Yeah.'' You could hear Gyro say. ''He's fine, Johnny. Do you think they're good for them?''

''I don't know, what do you think?''

Gyro stopped and narrowed his eyes at his friend, showing his teeth in a disgruntled manner.

''Well, I don't know! Aren't you the genius jockey?''

''These horses aren't for jockeys, so I don't know, Gyro.''

''Well, if they're not for jockeys, then they can be for women. We're wasting too much time here, Johnny.''

''But are you sure? I mean... if that horse's name is Judas, there must be a reason, mustn't there?''

''That we'll find out when it's too late.'' Gyro sighed, looking at you as if you couldn't hear him. ''Let's leave him with the crazy one, she seems tougher.''

''Then let's take those horses. Do you have the money?''

''Huh? What are you talking about?''

''You had given money to (Y/N), I figured you had more.”

''Those bills have been in my pocket since the last stage of the race, Johnny. Of course I don't have any money. I thought being a bounty hunter was good business, or am I wrong?''

Johnny frowned and sighed, straightening up with a slight exclamation of impatience and walking over to his horse to check the money in his saddlebag. Then he tied his horse with gentle but brusque impatience, walking into the stables.

''Who's the crazy one?'' Louise questioned, whispering to you.

''It's definitely me.''

''Are you going to ask them where we're going?'' She leaned over to get a better look at your face. You didn't look back.

''No.'' You answered dryly. ''I don't need to know where they want to take us, I need to convince them not to do that.''

''And do you have a plan in mind? I mean... How do we say we're going to look for the corpse, just like them? What if they ask why?''

''They already know I'm an archaeologist, they already know I work for the foundation. That's enough.''

''Are you sure? What about... well, the truth? From what I heard at the gang's hideout, this corpse has something very special. Like, really special. I'm sure those two know that. Besides, I saw... well, you're sure to think I was crazy or hallucinating. But Gyro, he...''

''Has those strange spheres and use them as a weapon? Yeah, I saw that. Johnny can also shoot nails.''

Louise raised an eyebrow at this rather confusing affirmation, but shook her head.

''Nails? Like... with nailers? Do those things exist here?''

''No. Like, human nails. His nails.''

Her mouth opened, but no sound came out.

''Is that... is that really the past? Have you ever seen anything like this in archaeology school?''

You gave a cynical smile as you surveyed the landscape.

''No, I've never seen any material that talked about it. But this corpse...''

''You...'' Her voice sounded shaky, but it didn't falter. ''You were already in the lab when I entered the building that night. You said you went to see the corpse... Is there something you didn't tell me?''

"Is there something you didn't tell me, Louise?''

Louise narrowed her eyes upon hearing your reaction, but did not reply. Instead, she turned to look at the stable door. Johnny was not back yet.

''What's his name?'' Louise asked after a few seconds, still looking at the stable door. ''Johnny's full name.''

''Jonathan Joestar, or something like that.'' You replied, still looking at a fixed point in the landscape.

''Joestar... I've heard that name somewhere.'' She said. ''Maybe it was right here, but it's still weird. What about Gyro?''

''Gyro Zeppeli...'' You said, smiling cynically as you looked at him. ''For those who aren't intimate.''

''Huh?''

You didn't bother to explain.

When the horses were ready, both in terms of harness and transaction. Johnny made a point of complaining to Gyro that you and your friend were becoming rather expensive baggage, but he had the decorum not to say so around you. Then Johnny called out to you, hoping to appear calm.

Gyro was waiting, leaning against a tree while holding the two horses by their halters. You and Louise approached cautiously, with dozens of uncertainties hanging over you.

''Are we going to choose the horse in the odd or even?'' Louise asked.

''No. You're terrible at that.'' You gave a short laugh ''You can have Vegas, he suits you.''

''The horse that looks like a spotted cow suits me more than the horse with freckles?''

''Well... when the freckled horse's name is Judas and for some reason, maybe it does.''

Judas was ready, saddled, with the saddlebags and a rope halter that Gyro tied to the pommel of the saddle, leaving only the reins free. When he saw you, he smiled and said something, indicating Judas.

You thanked him, not knowing exactly why. He leaned over, expecting you to mount Judas and hold the reins properly and skillfully, but the horse was very restless, flapping his legs and fidgeting. Horses knew better than to trust strangers than you did.

"Alright, beast.'' You spoke to the horse, trying to show some authority. ''We have to go.''

Judas approached through the fences and stopped, petrified. He moved only his ears, which remained co*cked.

"The stirrups are adjusted for you.'' Gyro explained. ''Do you need help?''

You thought for a moment, but then let your pride do the talking.

''No, I can do it.''

Although you didn't have much skill, you managed to get on the horse. You realized that Gyro was holding back from picking you up and throwing you over the saddle at once and were surprised by the man's patience and consideration in not doing so.

''If you want him to walk, you need to tap your heels.''

''I know, Johnny told me that.''

Gyro frowned, pausing to think for a few seconds.

''Johnny did? And what horse were you riding?''

You paused, looking at him and then at the ground, pretending to try to remember. You didn't know why, but Gyro couldn't figure out that you had ridden Valkyrie.

''On his horse.'' You replied. ''He said I didn't have the experience to ride Valkyrie, so he gave me a ride.''

''Hum...'' He stared at you, and you swallowed. ''I guess you two were getting along, if he could find the time to teach you how to ride.''

The air rushed quietly out of your lungs as Gyro's expression changed from icy suspicion to a satisfied smile. Desperate to put this matter aside, you nudged Judas' belly to get him moving.

Judas did not react, and you urged him again to proceed. But to no effect. If it weren't for the veins pulsing in its warm neck, you'd swear you were riding a statue, not a horse. Suddenly, something touched your back. It was Gyro's hand, and it made you realize that he was quite tall, for even with you on a horse he had no trouble reaching your shoulder blades.

"You're tense, and the horse is feeling it.'' He explained. ''Relax your shoulders and loosen your reins a little. The horse will always respond according to the rider's behavior. If you get agitated, Judas will too."

''It's normal to get tense riding a horse named Judas, isn't it?'' You joked, relaxing your shoulders as the warmth of his hand ran through your blouse.

''That's right.'' He said it in an approving tone that reminded you of Jane Fonda's taped localized gymnastics lessons. ''See? He relaxed his neck.''

''Judas...'' You said, simultaneously with disapproval and irony. ''I didn't mean to insist, but I'm in a hurry, you know that. My friend is already doing somersaults with her horse.''

Judas neighed, waved his ears and snorted, he was clearly trying to say something. But you didn't fully understand him. You didn't have time to, as you felt the large body beneath you shudder and then the horse began to walk calmly. You smiled, allowing yourself a brief celebration that seemed to infect Gyro, who patted Judas on the neck and said some compliment in Italian - and he certainly wasn't talking to you.

Then Gyro turned to Louise, asking if she needed any help.

His hair shone again, thick and soft against the dark violet of his shirt. The golden strands were more obscured by shadow, and then you looked away from Louise. She was quiet, watching you. You felt fearful suddenly, not for yourself, but for her, as if something might materialize in this unknown world to separate the two of you again. But she smiled. A smile that didn't show her teeth and didn't look the least bit happy, but it was a smile nonetheless

''Thank you, mister...'' Louise hesitated for a moment, accustomed to the manner of a subordinate. ''Zeppeli.''

''You can call me Gyro, miss.'' He said reassuringly. ''Let's hurry, we don't have all day. Johnny! Are we forgetting something?''

''I don't think so.''

''Yeah, yeah. Just your brain, huh?'' He joked, smiling as he mounted Valkyrie. ''The ride to the station will take about a day and a half. I hope you ladies have traveled like this before.''

The ride promised to be long for what you were used to and you had already started out discouraged. First, because it was hot. Secondly, you did not like being in such difficult circ*mstances. Thirdly, you were very worried about Louise. You didn't like her taciturnity at all and her lack of detail whenever she mentioned the hours she spent being held by Joshua Creed's gang.

And fourthly, Johnny Joestar was a silent companion who clashed with the noisy presence of Gyro Zeppeli, who was always asking a question or talking about something he had seen along the way. You were exhausted and preoccupied with more important matters, so this restlessness made you particularly irritable. You thought about quietly complaining to Johnny, until you saw Louise distractedly engaged in a story Gyro was telling about his days on the Steel Ball Run.

You had too many questions and it was distressing. Your questions jumped from topic to topic like fleas. First, what happened to Louise? Then, what's with Johnny's ability to shoot nails? Does it have to do with the corpse? After all, you knew better than anyone that this corpse had something magical about it, something far beyond sticking like a magnet to living flesh. What about the Devil's Palm? What kind of temporal manipulation properties could a centuries-old crater possess? Alien technology from the meteorite? Something divine? Or simply magic? Who is Dio Brando, and why on earth did you have to choose "Brando" as the surname of Louise's boyfriend?

Dead husband, you corrected yourself as you glanced at her, who was straightening in the saddle trying to find some comfortable position, stroking Vegas, its mane black as a chopi's wing.

Neither you nor Louise were born horsewomen, but you already had a slightly broader sense of what it would be like to spend hours sitting on a hard leather saddle - Louise experienced only thirty minutes.

"Did he have two belly buttons?'' Louise questioned, making you half catch the story Gyro was telling. ''Actually... he was crossing the country on horseback at the age of seventy?''

''Exactly.'' Gyro confirmed. ''A strange fellow, but I think he was the only one who didn't do us any harm. I respect him.''

''Did all the others hurt you? Like who?''

Gyro paused to go through his mental inventory of the events of the race, looking up, as if searching through all the drawers for the most suitable story.

''There was a family. A father and two brothers.'' He began. "The Boom Booms. Do you remember them, Johnny?"

Johnny squinted, not seeming to be paying attention to anything but his own horse, but he could hear the question.

"Those crazy people? I remember the boy had some kind of fetish about being strangled."

Louise laughed, but allowed the story to continue.

You noticed that Louise, however, did not seem to be interested in the veracity of these stories. She shook her head and listened intently as a nursing home worker listens to a senile old man. Gyro could tell the most absurd stories, and with the most serious air in this world. These stories circulated about the corpse, most of the time. They were all very curious, however unbelievable they were.

Remembering the stories that were told about the Devil's Palm, you realized that they were very similar to Gyro's experiences within the Steel Ball Run. Violence, death, betrayal, a hint of mysticism and a warm feeling of reading a comic book, especially considering superpowers and magic items.

Gyro didn't necessarily say that something or someone had superpowers but vaguely mentioned their abilities.

''His ropes saved him.'' Gyro said after telling about an old friend who had been the victim of a terrorist attack. One of the race's checkpoints, still on the Arizona stage, blew up with a man named Mountain Tim inside one of the devastated hotels. Gyro's grotesque description of his mangled limbs and screams of agony was gripping. ''I almost lost my leg, too.''

To say that ''his ropes saved him'' suggested, again, some kind of superhuman ability that would save a man from an explosion. You were sure of it.

''What do you mean the ropes? Do you mean literally ropes?'' Louise questioned, like a psychologist listening to her schizophrenic patient, trying to make sure it wasn't all figurative meaning.

Gyro smiled, looking at Johnny and then at the road.

''That's a complicated story, miss. Maybe you'll understand later.'' That was what he always answered when Louise asked a question like that.

You were used to not having useful answers coming from those two men, and you found it amusing to see Louise going through the same thing as you.

As he had promised, Gyro told you some stories about the runner Diego Brando, so fluently and with such ease that you thought he must have told them many times before.

''Johnny has known Diego for much longer.'' He explained, gritting his teeth. ''I know him well enough to regret not killing the bastard the first chance I got.''

''They also call him Dio, right?'' You asked, and Gyro confirmed with a nod.

''Brando?'' Hearing the familiar name of her favorite actor, she quickly inquired, casting a glance at you.

That glance clearly said something amusing like "is he an ancestor of Marlon Brando?" that couldn't be said out loud. You returned it with a serious, concerned and immediate look.

''Yes...'' You confirmed, glancing at Johnny, seeing that he suddenly seemed interested in the conversation. ''Same last name as Luca. Coincidence, no?''

''Luca?''

Your desperate gaze met her plausible unexplained gaze. Your white, visible sclerae said ''I'll explain later'' in a universal language.

''Anyway.'' You said, looking at Gyro. ''What did this Dio do that was so bad?''

''It's easier to ask what the hell this lizard didn't do.'' The Italian replied, and you saw his wrists clench angrily in the leather of his reins. ''He's a greedy, backstabbing son of a bitch. He doesn't care who he has to kill, betray or exploit to be successful, he'll do it."

You could already imagine that all of Gyro's hatred was borne out of the more superficial conflicts of the race, and this was confirmed when he said that in the third stage of the race he had contested first place with Dio Brando. In the heat of the moment, in the suffocating immediacy of a draw, Dio purposely injured Gyro's horse with a stone, making a deep gash in its leg. You didn't realize it until Gyro showed you, but Valkyrie had a large scar on theleft front leg. A cut about seven inches long, deep and apparent where no more fur grew.

''I only didn't get first place because of that.'' Gyro concluded.

''Actually, you wouldn't have come in the first place.'' Johnny added. ''Hot Pants had already come in first place three hours before, remember?''

Gyro stared at him, a little offended.

''Yes, I remember.'' He said. ''And I also remember we made a deal: I would finish the race in first place, and you would finish in second place. But at that stage you ran ahead of me like a traitorous rat, remember?''

Johnny sighed and closed his eyes, as if he had heard this many times before.

''What did you want me to do, Gyro? That I should come in fifth place?''

''That was the deal, you idiot!''

Chapter 12: You're Young And You'll Forget

Chapter Text

"I hope you've slept in a barn before, miss.'' That's what Gyro said when you asked when and where you were going to sleep.

You thought a campsite would be adequate despite the insects and the cold, much better than a barn. But you trusted Gyro and Johnny's taste when it came to comfort after listening to all those stories about the Steel Ball Run for a whole day.

Maybe a barn was a safer and more comfortable option than the forest, that made a lot of sense. But then you remembered the function of barns and the smell of barn animals. But, as it turned out, that barn had two separate floors, although probably not very clean ones. When Johnny asked the farm owner about "the upstairs rooms" you were a little relieved.

"We only have one room left.'' That was frustrating enough to hear. "But it's a double room, two people can sleep there.''

And you shuddered. Not at the prospect of sleeping with someone else, as you’re sure you'd choose Louise to share a room with; but at the thought of how many couples have passed through that room, what they've done in that room and whether that room has even been cleaned once. You felt a bit petty and tried to throw away your doubts, forcing yourself not to be demanding. But you saw Gyro make a grimace worse than yours and then you shuddered again.

"What about downstairs?'' Gyro asked. "Is it taken too?''

The attendant raised his eyebrows in puzzlement, but he wouldn't refuse money.

''Yes, it is.'' He replied. ''By the cows. But I don't think they'll mind your presence.''

''Good. We'll take the upstairs bedroom and the barn. How much do we owe you?''

It wasn't expected that the price would be so low. At the same time, it wasn't expected that Gyro would ask for a discount. In your days, you wouldn't have been able to buy more than a line of frozen food with the lodging money. Not at all willing to listen to Gyro's bargains, you thought it would be better to stay with less silent and less sweaty company.

You relaxed against Judas' shoulder, already accustomed to the distinctive smell of horse, observing the farm. The main hut, where the innkeeper and his family probably lived, had a simple and beautiful structure, as did the barn and stables. Someone in the hut had put more wood in the fireplace; a shower of sparks rose from the chimney, lighting the sky red and gold, and hissing blackly where the ashes fell. You lamented not being able to sleep there.

However, man is born unto trouble, as the sparks fly upward; you thought as you pulled Judas and Slow Dancer into the now rented barn. You had read this phrase from Job many times while working on the Ecclesiastes Project, without being able to fully understand it. Sparks flying upwards didn't generally cause any problems, unless you had very dry wooden shingles; it was the ones flying straight out of the fireplace that could set your house on fire. Or, if the author had only intended to say that it was human nature to be in difficulty - as it obviously was, even if your own experience didn't serve as an example - then he would have been making a comparison of inevitability, saying that sparks always fly upwards just as travelers always sleep in barns.

But who were you to criticize the logic of the Bible when you should have been repeating Psalms of praise and gratitude for still being alive? You tried to think of one, but you were too tired for it.

It wasn't exactly cozy inside the improvised inn. The entrance floor was clearly designated for the cows, while the second floor, where the bedrooms were, had no insulation against the sound and stench of the animals at night. But at least it wasn't freezing.

Cozy, you thought. With the strangely pleasant and unpleasant smell of animals in the dark. Their warm breath taking over the air. The strange gray light of the sky filtered in, just enough to see the curved shapes of the horses and cows dozing in their stalls. And there was dry hay to lie on, albeit old and a little moldy.

"I made you see a cow faster than I thought.'' Gyro said with a good-natured tone next to you as he threw a key in your direction. Without much skill, you managed to catch it.

It was too cold to take off your shoes and you were sure that the only room available wouldn't hold four people. You saw Gyro take off his cape and put it on the straw, having the strange thought that you had only just realized that he was wearing a cape. Johnny, on the other hand, was clever and spotted some brass chairs and boards that were probably used as tables by the ranchers. With this in mind, he cleaned the drums and sat down on one of them, letting out a long, tired sigh.

"Judging by the place...'' Louise whispered to you. "I think sleeping with the horses is more comfortable.''

"I'll let you explore that room.'' You said, handing her the key.

"Those two cowboys are more gentlemanly than you, (Y/N).'' She said smiling. "I'm going to stay down here for a while with you.''

The two of you sat down on the drums that Johnny had cleaned. Gyro had lit another lamp. Louise hissed in pain, cursing the stirrups and her skinned shins, now understanding why Gyro and Johnny wore so many layers of clothing.

The innkeeper's wife, probably indignant with her husband for letting the guests sleep in the barn, quickly appeared to make amends. She didn't even seem to notice the dirt that Gyro had soaked on her valuable carpet in the reception area. A small, frail bird-like woman in her forties, neat as a goldfinch, resplendent in her yellow silk robes, sent busy servants in all directions with an energetic clap of her hands and soon blankets, linen sheets and hot water appeared at your elbow almost before you had managed to take off your coat.

Somewhat lost, you arranged the blankets on the dusty wooden floor of the barn. The hot water, however, didn't do much good. No one seemed willing to take a shower right now. But you enjoyed the few minutes of steam that came out of the bucket before the water cooled down. Gyro and Johnny seemed to be prepared for the cold that night in another way.

"Can you drink now, Johnny?'' Gyro asked. ''I remember that you hardly wanted to drink alcohol.''

''I can drink, but I don't like it.'' He replied, sitting down calmly on a stool next to him. ''What's that? Wine?''

''Straight from Toscana. Vino Chianti.'' Then Gyro held up the bottle, looking at you and Louise. ''Have you had any European wine, ladies?''

''Not exactly...'' Louise said distractedly, drumming her fingers on the improvised wooden table. ''Is it good?''

''Nyo-ho! It's the best wine in the world, miss! Toscana is the birthplace of wine!''

''Tuscany?'' You mumbled without looking at him. "I thought it was Egypt.''

''Egypt?'' Slightly offended, Gyro questioned you. ''There can't even be any grapes in Egypt! It was obviously the Italians who created wine. Anyway, are you going to have it or not?''

"I'll try it.'' Johnny said. You and Louise watched in silence.

Gyro passed the cup and the wine to Johnny and you could smell the strong drink as he poured himself a sip. You weren't thirsty, but the faint aroma of grapes reminded you that you were hungry and had been for some time. Your stomach rumbled with a loud, embarrassing noise, protesting against your negligence.

"Hey, Johnny! Hungry, huh? Or is there a bear in there with you?'' Shouted Gyro, mistaking the source of the noise.

"Hungry enough to eat a bear, I think.'' Johnny replied, elegantly taking the blame. An instant later, his hand appeared in front of you with the wine.

"You'd better have a sip.'' He whispered to you. "It won't fill your stomach, but it will make you forget you're hungry. I'll bring you something to eat later.''

The wine would make you forget a lot of other things too, you hoped. You tilted the cup and then swallowed.

"Are horse trips always like this?'' Louise asked, watching you hand the wine back to Johnny. ''Tiresome and stinky?''

"It's like a baseball game.'' You assured her. "Long periods of boredom punctuated by short moments of intense activity or some distraction.''

She laughed and suddenly stopped, grimacing. Sensing the commotion, Johnny tuned in to assess the conversation, listening quietly and politely.

"Um, intense, yes...'' She gave you a crooked smile. "At least at baseball games you drink beer and eat hot dogs during the boring parts.''

Johnny, noticing the only part of the conversation that made sense, leaned forward.

"We don't have beer, but Gyro's wine is good too''. He said, eyeing Louise anxiously. "Would you like some?''

"I don't know...”

''Ah... but hot dogs? What's that?'' He straightened up and flexed his hands, as if he was getting ready to go hunting for one.

"It's a kind of sausage in a bun.'' Louise explained, rubbing her upper lip in an attempt not to laugh. ''But Italian wine sounds good.''

"Are you sure, Louise?'' You repeated, worried about the provenance of any alcoholic product from that time. ''Have you forgotten the last time we drank?''

''You're the last person who should forbid someone to drink.'' Louise sneered, looking at Johnny as she pointed at you with her thumb, ready to expose some shameful event you'd experienced during a night of drinking. "This woman is a machine. Did you know she already drank a bucket of vodka on my birthday?''

Johnny widened his eyes, puzzled and not quite sure whether to believe it. Well, it was true, but you would never confirm it.

"Well...'' Johnny looked up, at you and then at Louise. "When I met your friend, she tried to stab me with a broken vodka bottle.''

Louise laughed, having no trouble imagining the scene, and then yawned a little.

''She’s wilder than you think!''

"I'm not wild, I was just having fun.'' You defended yourself, finding it funny. "On your birthday, not when I tried to stab Johnny.''

"What a wild kind of fun, huh?'' Gyro intruded in the corner, also seeming to be amused by the conversation.

It was then that Louise yawned again, coyly covering her mouth with the back of her hand. She relaxed into a sleepy expression, although not a very peaceful one.

"Guys...'' She began, stretching. ''Who's going to be the lucky one to sleep in the upstairs bedroom?''

''I prefer to sleep in the company of horses.'' Gyro said.

So Louise looked at you, and you shuddered at the thought of sleeping in a 19th century barn-motel.

"I’m allergic...'' You paused briefly, looking at her cynically. ''To rooms.''

"I don't mind sleeping there.'' Johnny said, but he didn't seem very willing to comply with whatever this suggested. So he looked at Louise. ''But I think someone better take this opportunity to sleep in a bed, because there won't be many.''

"I know, why don't we have a Russian roulette?'' You suggested sarcastically. "The dead one sleeps in the bedroom.''

Looking confused, Johnny frowned, but Louise laughed. He was probably expecting an explanation, but you just smiled and dismissed the subject.

"Nothing, never mind.'' You said. "Whoever has the key is going to sleep in the bedroom.''

"Hey, that's not fair!'' Louise promptly protested.

''Are you complaining because you're going to sleep in a bed? I didn't know you were a primitivist.''

"Shut up.''

The 20th century had worse motels, you thought. But regardless of the era, you were welcomed by tired inns that greeted you with advertisem*nts that said:

"We want our guests to feel at home. All room equipment will be provided. Use hot water sparingly. Pay in advance. Management reserves the right to expel any guest with questionable behavior without prior notice. We cannot be held responsible for venereal diseases or bacterial infections. Thank you.''

In these creepy places, where you paid around three dollars for a room with a bed and another five dollars for a space in the barn with the cows, the flies would line up by the unprotected screen door and always manage to get into the rooms. The ashes of your predecessors lingered in the makeshift tin ashtray, a woman's hair lingered on the pillow given toyou by the innkeeper's wife, you could hear the upstairs neighbor hanging up his jacket.

A little distracted by the stupor of the wine, you watched Gyro and Johnny still talking about who would sleep in the suspicious room. Warning yourself not to make fun of yourself and your mental confusion, you began to think as you looked at those two men... It's quite easy to decipher a past fate like theirs now. For you, they were already dead; regardless of the cause, just dead. But what about you? Missing? Dead depending on the point of reference? Or simply alive? It was impossible to say. Your destiny was different; a destiny in the process of gestation.

Your life was no longer one of those clear-cut mystery stories in which the reader only had to keep an eye out for clues. In your teens, you once read a French detective story in which all the clues were presented in italic;but that's not how you, (Y/N), operate - even if you do learn to recognize certain obscure clues.

When the growing volume of homesickness began to make itself felt on that cold, gray night, not for the first time, nor for the last, you gazed with the same bored and uncomfortable disposition of mind at those immobile trivialities that appeared almost surprised, like staring peasants, when included in the field of vision of an occasional traveler: the bales of hay, the green tin chairs, the words in Italian on the wine bottle, your purple-stained glass, the insect that runs patiently through a strand of Gyro's hair.

Attentively, you could hear gramophone music escaping from the open door of the main hut, and you stood up to watch the night landscape through the barn window. The rhythm of the music was not synchronized with the pulse, the swaying and other gestures of the vegetation animated by the wind, you had the impression of an old silent movie moving on with a life of its own while the piano or violin followed a melodic line totally out of tune with the flower's twitch or the branch's sway. The sound of Johnny's last soliloquy vibrated incongruously in you when, with his calm, off-beat steps, enjoyed the cool evening breeze outside. Gyro had unexpectedly disappeared. And so it was just you and Louise now.

She was quiet and, unlike you, had already finished her glass of wine. Then you sat down with a quiet, monstrous pain in your chest.

"Where's Gyro?'' You asked.

"Gyro took a piss and Johnny said he was going to get some air.'' She replied. ''I'm sure he took a piss too.''

"Is the effect of this wine so fast?'' You scoffed, thankful that you hadn't stayed long enough at the window to accidentally observe Johnny. ''Well... it must be. You seem to be getting on well.''

She smiled almost imperceptibly as she stood up, uncomfortable with the tin and more inclined to sit on a nearby bale of hay.

"I think so. They're interesting... I mean, you know what they are. It's not everyone who can talk to people from the past.''

''Yeah... you're right. I think we're lucky, it's hard to find good people in this era."

''I'll say...'' Louise snorted wistfully. ''I've spent enough time with horrible, disgusting people.''

''Are you talking about Creed?''

''Is that his name? Well... if you're talking about an old pervert, yes.''

You sensed that your eyes seemed more filled with calculation than concern. You then looked at a small wristwatch lying on the table which, from the color, seemed to belong to Johnny. Then you prepared to broach the subject you'd been thinking about all day.

"What did he do to you?'' You asked, dragging your chair closer to her. Her silence was deafening, so you tried to take her hands and were surprised to see that she pulled them back. ''Did he hurt you, Louise?''

She grimaced and pulled her knees up to her chest, hugging them.

"I don't know.''

You reached out to touch her, but she shrank back more, and you put your hand down, resting your arms on your knee.

"Do you want to tell me?'' You didn't want to know, you wanted to pretend it hadn't happened either.

She looked at you, her lips contracted into a straight, pale line.

"No.'' She said. ''I don't want to...''

''You can't hide it forever.''

''I know! But...'' She sighed wistfully. ''Yeah... maybe you're right. I'd better tell you before it's too late.''

''Before it's too late?''

''It is late, actually. We've already lost the corpse and our way home.''

She had woken up before you and, according to her, the Devil's Palm was still there. That was the only reason she had gone out alone to guard the corpse. It took her a long time to realize the situation she was in. It was still dark and she took your flashlight to get her bearings. She knew the car wasn't far away, she knew she'd be back for you soon, and she hadn't woken you up before because she imagined you'd have a terrible hangover.

In the dark, she couldn't see the clothes of the men who had found her where the car should have been, but she could smell the stench.

''I remember practically nothing before waking up to gunfire... They knocked me out.''

''The shooting in the forest?''

''Yes, did you hear?''

''Well... I was there. I saw the smoke from the camp and I was going there, but Johnny stopped me.''

''Oh, thank God. Johnny was a real angel. If you had arrived at the camp they... they would have done horrible things, (Y/N).''

You swallowed and let her continue.

After the shooting, they rudely threw her over a horse, with her hands tied and nowhere to hold on securely, and set off for the Tuckertown hideout where the day followed.

During these hours, Louise managed to get to know most of the members, and especially the leader, Joshua Creed, who had long kept quiet as he watched the box with the corpse inside, not allowing anyone to get close.

He was wearing the same clothes as the time you had seen him; but in the daylight, Louise could see that they were of good quality, but stained and very creased. Greasy candle wax had dripped down the sleeve of his jacket and there were crumbs in his lap. Creed himself, although not very well-groomed, looked better than his clothes. When he tired of looking at the reminiscence of the corpse inside the box, he looked at her quickly and his eyes lit up with interest.

"I must compliment you, miss.'' He said, taking Louise's hand and raising it to his lips. ''It's very rare to find that a woman is more beautiful in the sun than in the moon. And you're one of them.''

Louise tried to pull her hand away, expressionless. Her heart was racing. He had asked a lot of questions, and Louise couldn't imagine how furious he would be if none of them were answered.

"Even if I wanted to answer, I wouldn't know how. You're the archaeologist, I'm not.''

''He was asking about the corpse?''

''Yes. Only about the corpse. He wasn't even interested in knowing my name or questioning my clothes.''

Impatiently, Creed's eyes glittered, but he smiled in false military sympathy. He gestured towards the door to the four henchmen inside, and they all left, leaving Louise alone with the man. He clasped her hand in the crook of his arm. He was a big man, much taller than her. Louise pulled her hand away sharply, but he held it fast.

"Since you've been with us, you haven't opened your goddamn mouth once.'' He said in a threatening voice. "Well, let's see if you won't open it now.''

Her heart started pounding again when he raised his hand abruptly. But Louise pulled his hand away and walked away as fast as she could, hitting the wall of the room after a few steps.

"It was very messy and there were a few bottles of wine...'' She explained, and you didn't bother saying that you already knew what it was like, because you'd been there too.

Creed took a step towards her. Louise picked up the wine bottle from the floor and hit him on the head with it. He bent down, took the bottle from her hand and punched her hard in the face.

As she said this, your eyes quickly blurred from hers and stopped on the sore purple spot on her cheek.

She staggered, a little dry from the sudden pain, and he threw another punch. This time, your eyes lowered to a spot on the corner of her lips that was cut. He grabbed her by the shoulders and forced her to her knees. He grabbed her hair hard, close to her scalp, and pulled her head. He held Louise, herhead tilted at a strange angle, while he pulled down the front of his pants with his other hand. He growled with satisfaction and took a step closer, moving his hips forward.

Louise had the politeness and cynicism to add that Joshua Creed was neither circumcised nor clean, and emitted a strong smell of urine. She felt vomit rise in her throat and tried to turn her head to the side. The answer to this was a strong tug on her hair that caused her to jump back, screaming in pain, causing tears to flow from her eyes.

"If you bite me, I'll break your nose, understand?'' He said.

She concentrated on the taste of blood from her cut lip, the taste and the pain. With her eyes closed, she could see the taste, salty and metallic, like copper, shining brightly inside her eyelids.

If she throws up, she would choke. Eventually she would choke and he wouldn't notice. She would suffocateand die, and he wouldn't stop.

Just when she thought it was over, she fell forward onto her hands and knees, coughing and breathless, and the saliva dripping from her mouth was stained with blood. She coughed and spat more than once, trying to get the stench out of her mouth. Her lips were swollen and throbbing with her heartbeat.

In one of Creed's attempts to dominate her, Louise managed to duck her head and headbutt him in the face. Her forehead hit the bone and he gave a loud cry of surprise and let her go. She broke free and ran down the stairs, screaming at the top of her lungs. It was probably at this moment that the Tuckertown trapper heard a crazy woman shouting nonsense.

Creed's henchmen were eating; there were about five men on the back stairs, five faces turned towards her with expressions ranging from surprise to malice. It was the nearest orderly who tripped her up, stretching out a foot as she passed him. She hit her knee hard on the floor.

"You like to play, then?'' It was Creed's voice in her ear, as two hands lifted her with disconcerting ease. He turned her to look at him and smiled. She had hit him in the nose; blood was trickling from one nostril. It ran over his upper lip, and followed the wrinkles when he smiled, red lines between his teeth and dark drops dripping slowly from his chin.

He held her arms tighter, but the gleam of satisfaction appeared clearly in his cold eyes.

"After that... it wasn't so bad.'' She heard her own voice, calm in an unnatural way, as if it belonged to someone else. ''I didn't... I didn't fight him anymore.''

She took a deep breath and looked at you. Her hands were on her stomach. You were silent for a moment, thinking. This wasn't the time to be sensitive.

"When?'' You asked. ''When was it? For how long?''

''In the morning. Just Creed...'' She let out a forced, cynical and regretful smile. ''Two... maybe three minutes, if that's what you're wondering.''

You sighed and this time you managed to take her hand. Warm and lively. However, yours were cold.

"Do you think...'' Your question was silently completed when you indicated her abdomen.

''No. Intrauterine device. One of the wonders of the modern world, isn't it?''She said, and you felt a wave of relief. "My only risk was getting a disease.''

''Wonders of the modern world...'' You repeated. "You're right.''

She smiled slightly and blushed a little.

"I want to go home, (Y/N).''

You could feel the hairs on your arms stand up, as if you were cold, and you rubbed them nervously. A journey of almost a century was a very complicated request to make to the universe twice.

"Me too... Don't worry, I'll find a way...''

Your moment of courage had passed, but it didn't matter; you'd gone too far. She just sat there looking at you, forgetting about the cup she was holding. You wanted to pick it up and drink it all, but you didn't dare.

It occurred to you, too late, that she didn't want to tell anyone. You hurried away, confused by your nervousness.

"I just... Louise, I think we should continue with Gyro and Johnny.''

''And how are we going to get home, when they don't even know what happened to us?''

''I don't know, but we can figure it out! They're our best bet for getting the corpse back.''

''Why do we need to get this corpse back?''

''Because... I think we need it to get back home. To travel... you know. I don't think being in the Devil's Palm is enough for that; the corpse also has its role.''

''But if we find the corpse... how will we find the Devil's Palm? You said that it moves to other places.''

"Well... I have two ideas.'' You sighed. "But you have to trust me, Louise.''

"I trust you, (Y/N).'' She replied immediately. ''But I don't trust those two guys.''

''Much less me, that's why we need to be ready to... you know.''

Your confused thoughts were interrupted by her calm words.

''Be ready to what?''

You raised your head and saw her looking at you over the cup of wine she hadn't drunk. She didn't seem upset, and you felt less nervous. You clenched your fists on your knees to steady yourself and stared straight into her eyes.

"To kill.''

Louise's eyes widened, dull.

''To kill who?''

''I don't know... But Creed's goons and... and a few other people involved with him. I need you to be okay with that. Gyro and Johnny aren't just two cowboys traveling around, you know that. They know more than they should about the corpse and they're willing to kill for it like they did two years ago. If we're going to travel with them, we can't disagree with that."

She pressed her lips together and took a deep, though shaky, breath.

''I think so... I... I'm willing to kill. The man who... His name is Creed, isn't it?'' She made a vague gesture towards her own thighs and you swallowed. ''But I'm only willing to do that if it helps us get home.''

A soft thud on the table made you both startle and look in the same direction. Gyro was there, and you didn't know exactly how long. He didn't seem shocked by the conversation, just abstracted. He brought the bottleof wine to his mouth and took a slow sip as he sat down.

"Excuse me, ladies.'' He said gently, and you didn't reply.

Louise remained quiet, her head down, and you watched her silently, until Gyro finished his cup in a few seconds.

"Have you ever killed anyone before?'' He said it like a question as he looked at you, but you knew it wasn't. A small muscle jumped near his lips... because he wanted to laugh, you thought, he wasn't shocked, and you felt a surge of anger.

"What are you talking about?''

"I heard what you said to your friend.'' He nodded briefly at Louise, who was too tired to pry.

You frowned as you also looked at your friend. Seeing her in that state only made you angrier.

"You don't think I can do it, do you? But I can. You better believe it... because I can!''

You spread your hands, clutching your knees tightly. You believed you could do it, even if your idea of how it could happen varied. In cold blood, a gunshot seemed the best way, perhaps the only right way. But, as you tried to imagine the scene, you realized the truth in the saying "a shot is too good for him".

It might be too good for Creed, but it wouldn't be too good for Louise. You could feel in Louise's trembling legs that she couldn't bear the slightest weight of the memory of what had happened to her. You didn't just want to see the man who raped your friend dead. You wanted to kill him, purely and intensely. To kill him with your bare hands, in revenge for what had been taken from her.

And yet... what good would it do to kill him if he still haunted her? There was no way of knowing...

"I'm sorry...'' You more than heard, but you saw Louise weakly get up and head for the stairs. ''I need to sleep.''

''Louise...'' Much quicker than her, you stood up and touched her shoulder, and she immediately curled up in reflex and looked at you.

"I can find the room by myself.'' She said gently.

"Are you sure? I mean... I can go upstairs too.''

''I'm fine, (Y/N)... I just need to think a bit... and rest.''

Dismissing your hand on her shoulder, she went up the stairs in silence, leaving you standing there like a fool. You took a deep breath, hating the way the dusty air scratched your throat as it begged for a drop of wine.

"And what good would it do you to commit murder?'' Gyro asked, standing behind you after seeing the scene. "It won't restore your honor or that of your friend.''

You felt your face heat up and you turned away, angry with him and with yourself. You were talking about rape and murder, and you felt ashamed that he had mentioned your honor? You forced yourself to look at him again.

"I know that!''

"So what did you think you'd get for that?''

You took a deep breath and let it out slowly, your eyes fixed on his.

''I... I wanted to recover our... our honor.'' You said, like a fool.

He looked at you with his deep green eyes.

"Many die of it, lady. But your friend didn't die, and neither did you.''

''He didn't do anything to me.''

"Because he took too long.''

You straightened up, feeling a slight chill as you remembered. It shook you, and he saw it.

Your knees were weak and you sat down suddenly. He picked up the bottle and poured the wine into your glass placing it under your nose.

"Drink this.'' He said. "Drink up, you look pretty pale.''

He got up and sat on the chair next to you, supporting the back of your neck, encouraging you. You took a sip, but choked and turned away, making a gesture of refusal. You wiped your sleeve across your wet chin, drying the spilled wine.

"You know what's worse? You didn't say it was my fault, but it's all my fault."

"I had a talk with Johnny.'' He said calmly. ''I'm still very, very confused. You're very confusing. But you're also innocent. I don't think you were at fault.''

He didn't sound totally convinced, but you'd give anything to believe him. Your lips were numb and stiff, and anger was giving way to despair.

''I was a coward. I should have fought. Or rather, I should never have gone back to that building. I shouldn't have let Thom scare me... ah, I felt scared. If I'd been brave, I wouldn't be here, none of this would have happened, but I wasn't, I was afraid! And now I'm much more afraid...'' You said, your voice breaking. You took a deep breath to calm yourself, knowing that Gyro wouldn't understand a word you said. ''Now the only thing I can do isget backthat damn corpse and...'' Your voice faltered at that moment, and you bit your lip hard, wiping away the tears.

Now Gyro looked slightly shocked. He made a move to comfort you, but you pulled away, your arms crossed over your stomach.

"I keep thinking... Creed... if I kill him, it's something I can do. It's the only thing I can do. Louise is good, much more than me. I can't let her be corrupted because of me. I feel like I'm stealing a duty but... if we're stuck here, at least I can avenge her. If I die here and Louise is left alone, at least I'll have taken him with me, and if I don't die... then maybe I can help her forget by killing him.''

"She won't forget.''

The words came out as direct and serious as a punch in the gut. He was still holding the bottle of wine. He threw his head back and drank.

"But it doesn't matter.'' He continued, setting the bottle down with a formal air. ''Let's pray she's not pregnant. Then we'll arrange your tickets back to Washington."

''Washington?'' Your voice faltered again, this time with irritation. ''No... I can't go to Washington, Gyro. I need the corpse.''

"The corpse is no longer your responsibility.'' He replied. ''By now, the corpse is with that bastard Dio. Now it's up to us to sort it out.''

''What? No! I can't go to Washington, are you crazy?!''

''You said you lived there, didn't you? Or are you lying again?''

''I'm not lying, but I can't go to Washington! I need to go home, not to Washington... I... I need the corpse. I need you to take me to this Dio guy.''

He raised one eyebrow sarcastically.

''I think you're the crazy one. We're not taking you nor your friend.''

''And why is that? We're not terrorists, we just need that corpse... Believe me, we really do.''

"I believe that. But how could we help you if you can't even use a knife?"

''What?''

''You had a knife, and yet that man managed to overpower you. If it wasn't for me and Johnny, you'd be in the same situation as your friend.''

''I can defend myself!''

''That's not what I saw yesterday. If you can defend yourself, then why did Creed take you down? Unless you let him...''

Furious, you raised your hand to him, but he stood up quickly and grabbed your wrist.

''No.'' He said reproachfully. ''You can't do the bare minimum. You won't survive two days' travel.'' He grabbed your other wrist when you attacked him and pulled them both up. ''You don't need to make a fuss here. Accept that you're weak... or did you want to leave Creed...?''

You squirmed before he could finish his sentence, using your weight to turn sideways. You brought your knee up sharply. He turned slightly and your knee hit his thigh, not the vulnerable part between his legs, which was the target.

The blow must have hurt, but he didn't lessen the pressure in the slightest. You twisted, kicking, cursing the thick fabric of your pants. You hit his shin at least twice, but he just laughed, as if he found the attacks funny.

"Is that all you can do, lady?'' He let go of you, only to grab both your wrists with one hand. With the other, he tickled your ribs.

''Meh, dammillo, dammillo,

è comm'a na rusella;

dammillo nu vasillo,

dammillo, Cannetella.''

With each repetition he sank a thumb hard into your ribs.

"You motherf*cker! Where's Johnny?!'' You screamed.

You stood on your tiptoes, moved towards his arm with all your strength and began to bite. You attacked the fist, but before you could sink your teeth into the flesh, you felt your body being lifted off the ground and flipped into the air.

You ended up falling to your knees, one of your arms twisted behind your back, so firmly that your shoulder joint cracked. The pressure on your elbow hurt; you wriggled, trying to turn around, but you couldn't. Gyro then grabbed one of his steel balls and an iron bar-like force gripped your shoulders, forcing your head further and further down. You couldn't believe he was doing this in that place, even though it was empty.

You put your chin to your chest; you couldn't breathe. But that energy kept forcing your head down. Your knees separated, your thighs too, due to the pressure.

"Stop!'' You grunted. It hurt to force the sound down your constricted throat. ''My God, stop!''

The pressure stopped, but it didn't subside. You could feel it behind you, an inexorable and inexplicable force. He brought his free hand back, looking for something to hold on to, something to hit or twist, but found nothing.

"That, cara mia, is called spin. I didn't put any physical effort into it.'' He said softly. "It could break your neck.''

The weight came off your shoulders, but your twisted arm still kept you leaning forward, your hair loose and tousled, almost touching the floor. You could feel his hand resting gently on your neck. You could feel his thumb and forefinger on either side, lightly pressing on your arteries.

"It could kill you.''

He wasn't exerting any force, but you felt short of breath. That invisible, numb force that made black spots dance before your eyes.

''The people who want this corpse are much stronger than you think. They're capable of things you've never seen in your life. You need to understand this for your own sake.''

His hand left your neck and touched you purposefully on the knee and shoulder, on the face and chin, emphasizing your powerlessness. You turned your head away, not letting him touch the wetness, not wanting him to feel your tears of anger. Then his hand applied a sudden, brutal pressure to your lower back. You let out a choking sound and arched your back to prevent your arm from being broken, pushing your hips back, your legs spread to keep your balance.

"I could use you however I want.'' He said, and there was coldness in his voice. "Could you stop me, (Y/N)?''

You had the feeling that you might choke on your anger and shame.

"Answer.'' His hand grasped your neck again.

''No!''

You were free. So suddenly free that you fell flat on your face, barely able to support your hand to protect yourself.

You lay on the floor, panting and sobbing. You heard a loud snort near your head - Judas, disturbed by the noise, spying from his stall.

Slowly, painfully, you propped yourself up and sat down.He was standing next to you, arms crossed.

"f*cking bastard!'' You screamed, slamming your hand into the hay. "God, I want to kill you!''

He stood still, staring at you.

"Yes. But you can't, can you?''

You looked at him, not understanding. He was staring at you, neither angry nor sarcastic. Just waiting.

"You can't.'' He repeated, emphatically.

And then you realized, and the realization rose from your aching arms to your scarred fists.

"Oh my God...''You muttered. "I can't. I couldn't...''

Suddenly, you began to cry, and the knots inside you fell apart, the weights were lifted, removed, and a cursed fear spread through your body.

"I can't.''You repeated, and swallowed, gasping for air. "I'm going to die here...''

A hand touched your face, large and very gentle.

''You're very brave. A woman with boiling blood in your veins.'' He whispered. ''But a woman nonetheless. Would you scold and think yourself a coward if you couldn't hold back a lion with your bare hands? It's the same thing.''

You put the back of your hand under your nose and sniffled.

He put his hand under your elbow and helped you up, and his strength was no longer threatening, but totally comforting. You felt your knees sting where they had been scratched. Your legs were limp, but you managed to reach the chair, and he let you sit down.

"You could have just said that, you know?''

He smiled slightly.

"I did. You didn't believe me. Then you had to see for yourself.''

''I guess I didn't really believe it...'' A deep but calm weariness took hold of you, covering you like a blanket. This time, you didn't try to push it away.

You watched, feeling too weak to move, as he dipped a cloth into the trough and wiped it over your face, set the messy table and poured you a drink.

When he handed you the cup full of wine, however, you put your hand on his arm. His bones and muscles were firm, warm under your fingers. He looked like a painting, the remnants of something more than past. But to the touch he was like a man more than alive. A body pulsing with blood and flesh, like any other man you've ever touched.

"I've gone too far.'' You said. "I need the corpse to get back home. And I need you to believe me.''

He put his hand over yours, squeezed and let go.

"Drink.'' He looked straight into your eyes, clear as emeralds. ''Think about it to make sure you don't regret it.''

"Is it true... that she won't forget?''

He paused, breathing slowly.

''Yes, it's true.'' He said. ''But it's also true that, after a while, it won't matter anymore.''

''It won't? How do you know?''

''It also happened to someone very important to me. I understand you, (Y/N), I also felt like killing the bastard with my bare hands.''

''And did you kill him?''

''No.''

''And why?''

''You can't have one thing without sacrificing another. In this case, I'd be sacrificing two things.''

''But didn't you want revenge?''

''Of course I did. But don't you know what they say about revenge in Italy?''

"No. What do they say?''

"Revenge is a dish best served cold.''

You gave a wistful smile, looking down.

''Are you sure they only say that in Italy? I've heard it dozens of times.''

''Well, I don't know, but I've heard it dozens of times in Italy too. Ah, and what about... Wanting revenge like desiring a woman?''

Faced with the suggestion, you tried to search somewhere in your mind for a memory of a time when you had heard this phrase. Without success, you frowned and gave him a crooked smile.

"I think you're going to have to explain that.''

He laughed, his gold teeth gleaming under the wine cup and you could feel the liquid stir with his sudden breath.

''First, you want it with all your heart and soul. If the woman is attractive, you feel able to move mountains for her. And then, just as a woman sleeps with you, the opportunity to take revenge arises. If you choose to take revenge just as you chose to possess that woman, the next day you'll feel like the most foolish man in the world. God's most stupid creation.''

You were too tired to even think about what he might mean by that. You felt almost weightless, strangely distant, as if you no longer inhabited a body overwhelmed by problems.

"So... It won't matter after a while? Even if I don't kill him?''

A gust of cold wind came through the door and pierced the cloud of warming air, making all the animals move. A spotted cow stirred angrily and let out a low moo of annoyance and protest.

You saw Gyro look at the cow and then at you.

"You're a very strong woman.'' He said at last, very gently. ''As for your friend, I'm sure she's just like you.''

''I'm not strong. You've just proved that I'm not...''

His hand on your shoulder stopped you.

"That's not what I mean, you know.''

Chapter 13: Funny How Time Slips Away

Chapter Text

''(Y/N)?''

"Huh?'' You sat up with your heart pounding, the sound of your name ringing in your ear. ''Who... what?''

''You were asleep. Damn, I knew it must be the wrong time. Sorry, should I hang up?''

It was a slight buzz in his voice that made the confused and slightly delayed connections in your nervous system click into place. Phone. Phone ringing. You had answered it on reflex, still dreaming.

"Thom!'' The rush of adrenaline from being woken up was fading, but your heart was still pounding. ''No, don't hang up! It's okay, I'm awake.'' You ran a hand over your face, trying to untangle the phone cord and, at the same time, straighten out the crumpled bedclothes.

''Are you sure? What time is it there?''

''I don't know. It's too dark for me to see the clock.'' You said, still sleepy.

A deep, reluctant laugh was the answer.

''I'm sorry. I tried to calculate the time difference, but I must have done it the other way around. I didn't want to wake you.''

''It's okay, I had to wake up to get the phone anyway...'' You said, and laughed.

''Yes. Well...'' You could see the smile in his voice and you lay back on the pillows, pushing the strands of hair away from your eyes, slowly adjusting to the here and now. The sensation of your dream was still strangely present, more real than the dark shapes of your bedroom.

"It's good to hear your voice, Thom.'' You said softly. You were surprised at how good it was. His voice was distant and yet it seemed so much more present than the distant wails of sirens and the sound of tires on the wet asphalt outside.

"Yours too.'' He seemed a little shy.

''Are you still in Ireland?''

''A bit lower. Switzerland.''

''Can't you stay in one place for more than two days?''

Then he laughed again.

''I'm due back in the States this weekend, just in time for something very important...''

''The conference in Boston?''

''Ah, yes... Yes, yes, the conference too.'' He laughed, bewildered. ''But I have time for something else... I thought I'd go if... well, there's no good way to put it. Do you want to go out with me?''

''Do you want to take me to this important thing? And what would that be?''

''A new movie by Martin Scorsese. Taxi Driver, have you heard of it?''

''Taxi Driver? Don't tell me that movie is about a taxi driver.''

''Well... maybe. But it's by Scorsese, so it's sure to surprise you.''

"Um...''

"So? Do you want to watch with me?''

You held the phone tightly and your heart raced.

''Yes, of course!''

''Oh, so you don't mind? It's just that... you didn't show up for our last get-together. I thought you didn't like mixing work and personal life."

''Oh... I was just tired. This project is killing me, you know.''

''I'm sorry, I didn't imagine it would be so tiring when I assigned you the research. And you're my best card...''

''No, it's okay, I was just...''

''I didn't mean to...''

Your words collided with his, and you both stopped, overcome by shyness.

''I didn't want to force...''

"I didn't want to be...

It happened again, and this time he laughed, a slow sound of good humor coming from the vast distance of space and time, comforting as if he had touched you.

"All right, then.'' Thom said firmly. "I understand.''

You didn't answer, but closed your eyes, an indefinable feeling of relief taking over you. Thomas Foster was probably the only person in the world who could understand. What you hadn't realized before was how important that understanding could be.

"I was dreaming.'' You said. "When the phone rang.''

''About what?''

''I don't know... a lot. But I was far away from you. Much farther than the distance from America to Switzerland. Perhaps much farther than the moon.'' Your throat constricted a little when you said that. The same thing happened when you thought of him. You could still smell the musty hay warmed by the sun in your dream, and feel the pine needles being crushed by your boots. ''There were more people, even Louise was there... It had something to do with the Ecclesiastes corpse, I don't remember very well."

"This project is really messing with your head.''

"Yes, maybe you're right.''

Thom laughed and you suddenly remembered him, throwing back the dense black hair he didn't always cut, his dark green eyes half-closed as he smiled. You realized you were running the tip of your thumb across your lower lip and stopped yourself.

"I wish you were here right now.'' You spoke on impulse.

"Really?'' He looked surprised and suddenly shy. ''Ah, well... that's good. Don't worry, I'll be there in a few days.''

''Thom... about Sue...''

"Don't worry about her.'' He said quickly. ''I'll be there soon, we can talk when I get there. Leave Sue to me, okay?''

You remained silent.

''(Y/N), I...''

''Yes?''

You heard him pull in air and had a clear memory of the sensation of his chest rising and falling as he breathed, warm and firm under your hand.

"I'm glad you said yes.''

You couldn't get back to sleep after hanging up. Sleepless, you threw your feet out of bed and walked to the kitchen to get a glass of water. After spending several minutes looking into the fridge, you realized that you weren't looking at rows of ketchup bottles and half-used cans, but at tall trees, black against the dawn sky, along with a blue hat and blonde hair a few inches away, watching the landscape.

"Ah, (Y/N), good morning.'' Said Johnny, looking at you over his shoulder.

"Oh, no... f*ck!''

Then you straightened up with a slight exclamation of impatience and slammed the barn window hard. You shivered slightly and rubbed your arms, cold. You no longer knew what was real and what was a dream. To be sure, you approached your red-spotted horse, hoping that your hand would pass through its body as if you were touching a cloud - but you were disappointed when you felt the animal's rigid, warm muscle vividly in your palm.

A fine rain was falling, cooling the air enough to make breathing inside the barn comfortable. Judas jerked his head in your direction and you stroked him wistfully.

You hadn't bridled him, so Judas was the only horse loose in the barn. Small waves of dizziness washed over you every few minutes and you forced yourself to hold onto the animal's neck. The ground beneath you seemed to rise and fall like waves in the sea.

"Judas... you're my first pet in a long time, you know that?'' You murmured to the horse. "My kitten was run over a few years ago, and I haven't had any pets since. I think horses and cats are very different... but you seem to be a good boy, despite your name."

''You've slept more than anyone else and you still look tired.'' A voice said from behind. "I think this is the first time you've slept in your life.''

And you looked back to see just who you were expecting. Gyro smiled, shaking his hair out of his face.

"Is Louise awake?''

''Yes, she's helping Johnny saddle the horses.'' He replied. ''Actually, Johnny is teaching her. If you want some lessons, ask him, because I'm not going to teach anyone.''

"I don't want to, thank you.'' You said dryly.

''You talk in your sleep, you know that?''

''Oh... no. What was I talking about?''

''I have no idea. I think you have your own language or you can speak Greek fluently.''

"Can you say one of the words?''

''I don't know... taxe? And something about Scots.''

''Scots?''

''Yes. You were saying something like... scozzese.''

You no longer remembered the dream you were having well enough to understand it.

"Maybe I know Greek subconsciously.'' You said, going back to stroking Judas. "Do you know what day it is?''

Gyro stopped, and you only realized now that he was concentrating on putting on his boots. One foot was sockless, the other with the wrong boot on. The time he needed to think made you assume that he was as lost in his notions of space and time as you were. Would time travel have the equivalent effect of a long journey by ship from one continent to another?

"Saturday, I think.'' He said. "Or Sunday. I think you'd better ask Johnny. Why?''

Saturday. Voluble, moody, once cheerful and relieving. Gyro, realizing that he was trying to fit his left boot on his right foot, corrected himself awkwardly, with the mordant grace of his coruscating frame. He was as tall and shapely as a wild horse would be - much like Valkyrie, you thought -. Unbearably attractive from head to toe, but with the delicacy of an ogre. An old-fashioned man in every sense. You let your hand rest on Judas' mane.

You took a deep breath and shook your head.

"We need to talk.''

"Yes, we do.''

You stared at each other as he finally pulled on his boots.

"I'll call Louise and Johnny.'' You said.

''No, you won't.''

''Excuse me?''

''We'll talk to your friend later.''

''What about Johnny?'' Your voice, in your head, sounded softer, kinder, but in reality you looked like you were about to cry. ''You're not going to tell me you want to start an interrogation on your own.''

"You don't have to make Johnny believe you, just smile at him and he'll take you wherever you want to go.'' He laughed softly, correcting his posture. ''But me? I don't believe a word you say about anything. You're going to have to convince me not to strap you on a train to Washington.''

You began to feel your hands go numb and wanted to move them from their position, entwined in the hem of your shirt, but they refused to obey you. Then he got up from the crate and instructed you to sit down. You were nervous, knowing that you could never tell the complete truth, so your mind clung to your surroundings. It didn't seem likely, but if Gyro tried anything, you might scream. But who would you shout at? Your weakened friend? Johnny? You came to the conclusion that the best-case scenario was that Gyro didn't try anything.

So you sat, looking at him and he at you, listening to the faint rustle of hay.

"Who are you?'' He asked, and you felt your own throat move as you answered:

''(Y/N).''

''Right, let's try again.'' He sighed and put his hands on his waist. ''Who are you?''

''An archaeologist. I used to work for the Speedwagon Foundation.''

''You did? Okay, let's pretend I believe that. Why don't you work anymore?''

''Because... I f*cked up pretty bad. Bad enough to lose my job.''

''This has to do with the corpse, right?''

''Yes.''

''Who sent you to New Jersey?''

''Nobody. I came with Louise.''

''Why did you come? To get the corpse?''

''No, I already had the corpse.''

''So you were running away?''

''Not exactly.''

''Then why are you here?''

A sepulchral silence overtook the barn, as if even Judas had stopped making noises to wait for your answer.

"Why are you here, Miss Archaeologist?'' He asked again, impatiently.

"I can't say.''

''Why can't you say? Some kind of agreement?''

"Because no one will believe me.''

He stopped, not expecting this answer, and then knelt down after a few seconds. He looked at you, making you understand that he deserved more than a six-word explanation. He sighed and faced you, his bright green eyes narrowing.

"Right, let's say I'm going to believe you...''

"You won't, so why?''

''I will, believe me I believe you.'' Then he decided to continue. ''Why don't you tell me how you got here? You told Johnny that somehow you managed to travel from Washington to New Jersey as fast as a straight train ride. But there are no straight tracks for this route.''

''I...''

''You came with a car, that's what you told Johnny. But as far as I know, there are faster horses than cars.''

''It wasn't... any car. Not a car from here.''

You were losing control of the situation, you were at an overwhelming disadvantage in the face of what seemed to be endless lies.

"You're no help with these guessing games.'' He grumbled. ''Can't you see I'm trying to help you? Creed is alive and he thinks you're our partner or the lover of one of us. He's going to take this corpse to Dio and then Dio will also think the same thing and you'll be in a danger you can't even imagine.''

"Well... I'm not, am I?'' You said, reasonably. "At least you know that.''

''Yes, I know that.'' He repeated, showing exaggerated patience. ''What I don't know is who the hell you are! An archaeologist? A madam? A lawyer's daughter? Dio's spy? Terrorist? I have to tell you, signorina, if you don't make me come to a conclusion that makes sense, I'm going to lock you and your friend in a train straight to Washington.''

His voice sounded increasingly impatient, but he seemed to be trying hard to stay calm and was doing a good job. You lowered your head and closed your eyes, letting your face be taken over by a shadow. Your head was aching and so you pressed your fists against your orbits. Then, when you took a deep breath and looked back at Gyro, you saw him still kneeling in front of you, his elbow resting on his knee.

"I can answer more clearly...'' You said weakly. "If you explain a few things to me.''

He didn't say anything, and you took it as a "go ahead".

''I know I should be asking about your steel balls but... somehow, I feel like they're much more understandable to me than Johnny's nail shots. I was too sober and aware to be sure I wasn't crazy when I saw him shooting his own nails. What the hell was that? Are you even human? I mean, obviously you guys are, but...''

Now he seemed as hesitant to explain himself as you were and, realizing that you were now both in similar positions, he gave in faster than you thought he would.

"You're an archaeologist.'' He said. "You must understand better than anyone about the mysteries of humanity.''

''Well... yes, that may be true. But what does it have to do with anything?''

''Two years ago, at the start of the race, Johnny and I met up with a family of freaks. The Boom Booms. They were terrorists who were after the prize for my head.''

"Prize on your head? But you...''

"There we met a man called Mountain Tim.'' He interrupted you. ''A good man who also died because of the corpse. He was just like me and Johnny, he also had these mysterious abilities. He said it's called stand and told us how he got his.''

Although Gyro seemed a man incapable of explaining anything properly, you could understand the story very well. Your eyes were fixed on his, almost inert like those of someone who isn't paying attention, but is simply too familiar with stories like that.

"You're telling me...'' You muttered when he finished telling the tale of his late friend, Mountain Tim, who had been a victim of a popular curse. ''That he got that stand ability on the Devil's Palm? As the tales say?''

''According to him, yes.''

''That... you've also been to the Devil's Palm at some point?''

''Yes, and I hope that clarifies things for you.''

''That... doesn't make sense. How can I believe you?''

His frown deepened, confused.

''Huh? What are you saying? The hardest part to believe you saw with your own eyes; Johnny shot his nails into that pervert."

''Yes, I know, but it still doesn't make sense. If these stories are real, then I should also have these superpowers or something.''

''What? Are you saying you've been to the Devil's Palm too?'' This time, he sounded very surprised, with a more energetic, albeit worried tone. ''Well, I think Johnny said you were delirious when you were saying things about the Devil's Palm, but I know you're sober now... are you sure?''

''Yes! Absolutely sure!'' You assured yourself. ''Not only have I been there, I've slept there! All those months I worked at the Speedwagon Foundation were dedicated to monitoring the Devil's Palm!''

''You slept there? Wait... monitoring?! What do you mean?''

''I mean that I spent months deciphering the locomotion patterns of this phenomenon and tracking it to... well, to find the corpse.''

"That doesn't make sense.'' He quickly questioned. ''The corpse was placed in a bunker and only... well, only one person knows exactly where that bunker is. Are you telling me that you found the corpse lying around in the Devil's Palm? So who took it out of the bunker?"

''I don't know... and it wasn't exactly me who found it, but the rest of the research team and... Louise. She was there, but she's not part of the team of scientists. Anyway, this story doesn't make sense. Cursed abilities from stepping on a meteor crater? I refuse to believe it!''

''Whether you believe it or not is not my problem. I just want you to tell the truth now.''

''The truth about what? I've already told you everything!''

"You didn't say how you traveled from one state to another in less than two days.'' He said impatiently. ''Nor why you're here. Nor why you stole the corpse. Nor why you've been tracking the Devil's Palm. Is the Speedwagon Foundation also interested in the corpse? That's worrying. By the way, how the hell did you manage to monitor the Devil's Palm?''

You stopped to think about the penultimate question. Yes, the Speedwagon Foundation was interested in the corpse, but about a century from now. Now, the company's only concern is to look for more profitable sources of oil in South America.

''Ah, well the Speedwagon Foundation isn't interested in the corpse now... not exactly. I really don't know how I can explain it.''

''Just open your mouth and say the words.''

''It's not that easy!'' Then you stood up, impatient, desperate to leave. ''It's not like you know what satellites are or have ever seen a real car or a highway! How am I going to explain that I traveled from Washington to here on the JFK highway when you don't even know who the hell Kennedy is?! It's not that simple, Gyro, trust me!''

Then the conversation was interrupted by a bang and the sudden light of the morning sun illuminated the barn completely. Seizing the chance to escape the awkward situation, Judas left through the same door that Johnny had entered and you wished for a second that you could do the same.

"What the hell is going on? Why are you shouting?'' Johnny quickly stepped in to assess the situation without a second thought.

"She's going crazy, Johnny.'' Gyro replied. ''She's just saying nonsensical things and still wants to go with us to collect the corpse.''

''And why is that? I thought you wanted to go home.''

The tension of it all hit you. You shook off what was paralyzing your hands and quickly covered your face with them in desperation. Then you grabbed your own elbows, moving from side to side, digging your fingernails into your skin.

"Louise...'' You stammered, then looked up at Johnny. ''Where is she?''

''Outside with the horses, do you want me to call her?''

''No... She doesn't need to go through this horrible interrogation.''

''We just want you to unravel everything at once.'' Gyro, with typical impatience, continued.

Then you stopped walking and remained motionless, your eyes disturbingly fixed on Gyro's, breathing heavily, trying to control yourself.

"I'm telling you everything! I used to work for the Speedwagon Foundation and I know about the corpse because I was paid to! Everything I know about the race is because of Thom... I know about your life because Thom told me! I know that you exchanged letters with the Vatican, I know about the identity of the corpse, I know about all this because Thom told me!'' You spoke faster and faster, trying to control the vertigo at the sound of your own voice. You felt as if you were going to faint and clenched your eyes shut.

They remained silent, perplexed, listening to everything and trying to understand.

"Everything I've ever said about myself is true, but maybe I lied about Louise's husband.'' You said, shaking your head wildly as if to calm down. "Everything about me is true. My father is a lawyer, he gave me a car, and I live in Washington. But I don't have a family, or any property or a house. I don't have any of that yet! I have no story, because it hasn't happened yet!''

So you looked at them, waiting for some reaction. Desperate for some change in their faces. Be it a raised eyebrow or an open mouth. But no, they remained still, side by side, listening intently and in a terrible silence that urged you to keep talking.

"Do you know how old I am? When was I born?'' You asked, your eyes watering. You knew your hair was disheveled and your eyes were drooping, but you didn't care. "I was born in 1952. Did you hear me?'' You asked again, because they blinked at you, paralyzed, as if they weren't paying attention to a word you were saying. ''I said nineteen fifty-two! Sixty years from now!'' You were shouting now, and they shook their heads slowly. "Do you hear me?!"

"We're listening...'' Johnny replied softly.

"Yes, you are!'' You shouted, enraged. "And you still think I'm completely crazy, don't you?''

You felt your face crumble. All this time trying to hide the truth, being questioned, realizing that you could never tell anyone, and now you realized that you could have told those two men just as crazy as you. Those men who shoot their own nails and use steel balls as weapons. You could tell them... and they still wouldn't believe you. They couldn't believe you, even though they had already witnessed the curses of the Devil's Palm and the miracles of the sacred corpse. It was simply absurd.

"It was the Devil's Palm...'' Gyro said. ''Wasn't it? You were wondering why you didn't have any cursed abilities... but it must be because your curse is much worse.''

Your legs went weak and you didn't realize the moment you had to sit down to stop yourself from crying. These last few days had been summed up in tears that disgusted you. You didn't want to cry anymore. You then let yourself fall onto the crate and buried your head in your hands. There was a long silence in the barn, and knowing that they still thought you were just crazy was torturous.

"I'm sure...'' You continued, wheezing, increasingly incoherent. ''I'm only here because of the corpse. If it was just the Devil's Palm... the whole team would have disappeared. I could find the Devil's Palm after getting the corpse... just two miles north... but how many days have passed? How many miles north, and then west, had this crater traveled? I should have thought there was something wrong with all those tales... but how could I have known? They were just silly stories that I couldn't believe. But look where I am because of those tales. Just look!''

The silence continued long enough for the horses outside to regain their courage and begin their noises again, calling to each other with a high-pitched, fragile neigh as they hunted for the freshest grass on the ground.

You raised your eyes at last, thinking that perhaps they had simply gone away, overwhelmed by your revelations. But they were still there, standing still, their arms crossed, their heads down as if they were meditating.

Just behind them, then, you saw a delicate silhouette and the orange glow of Louise's hair on the doorstep. It wasn't possible to know how long she had been standing there, but you could tell from her face that she hadn't dared to step into that barn and face the situation. You couldn't blame her. Her hair shone like copper wires in the firelight and you could tell that it was matted, like a dog's hair. She was afraid of that conversation, if not of you.

Then your eyes slid to Johnny's, leaning on the old wooden column in the middle of the barn, looking down at his feet as if he was trying to digest all that information.

"Johnny...'' You said, feeling your heart crumble with absolute loneliness. ''Gyro...''

Then you curled up like a ball, trying to envelop the core of your pain. Nothing else mattered and you just sobbed.

Then a warm hand on your shoulder lifted you up, enough for you to see his face. Through the mist of tears that wouldn't fall from your eyes, you saw the look a man wears in combat, of a fight that will go beyond the point of tension and become a quiet certainty - whether of death or victory.

"Don't cry.'' That's what Johnny said. "We believe in you. We don't understand any of this, it's true, but we've seen enough weird things to believe in you, haven't we, Gyro?"

Gyro let out a soft noise of uncertainty, but he knew Johnny was right.

''Yes, I think so.'' He replied. ''This is much stranger than anything we've ever seen, you know, Johnny. But after all... it's not impossible. But it's still strange, it'll take me a while to get used to it. Now I know why you didn't want to tell us anything.''

Johnny gave you a gentle shake.

"I can see in your eyes that you still have a lot to say.'' He continued. "But not now. Not here. Stay calm and rest, and you'll tell us the rest on the way to Stafford Township. And we'll believe you.''

You were still sobbing, unable to understand what he was saying. You struggled, trying to pull yourself free, but he lifted you up and squeezed your shoulder comfortingly. Suddenly, out of sheer exhaustion, you calmed down enough to raise your eyes and say:

"How can you believe me?''

"We're going to tell you a few more things we saw in the race, and then you'll know.'' Gyro replied. "How old are you, (Y/N)?''

Gyro smiled at you. His mouth twitched slightly, but he smiled. He was curious and the question seemed so meaningless in that situation that it took you a while to think.

"Twenty-four...'' You replied.

"Ah...'' Johnny exclaimed softly. "I thought you were younger.''

They didn't move for a second. But then they looked at you.

''1976?'' Gyro asked.

"Ah?''

''The year you... were. If you were born in 1952 and you're 24... then you should be in 1976.''

"Well, yes, I should.'' You said it stupidly.

Chapter 14: Can You Fool

Chapter Text

It was a relatively cold and damp night, but the cheap heater did all the necessary work in a small apartment like Louise's. The doorbell rang as she put on her silk stockings. There was a hole in one of them, but there was nothing she could do about it now. Louise slipped her feet into the uncomfortable heels, finished putting on her earrings and went to the door, rather annoyed at the interruption and because she wasn't expecting any visitors.

She opened the door with a jolt and her eyes widened. Her friend was there, holding an almost empty bottle of wine in a brown paper bag. Purple splashes of Beaujolais stained the stairs behind. You were coatless, just emerging from the freezing fog, tiny crystals of moisture sparkling on your shoulders.

''(Y/N)! What the hell happened? Are you okay?''

''Do I look okay?''

Louise let out a short, muffled laugh, letting her concern show and motioning for you to come in before you froze, closing the door as you did so. In astonishment, Louise noticed the traces of make-up ruined by tears on your face, as well as lips pale from the cold and alcohol.

''Jeez, (Y/N)... you've had enough, haven't you?'' She said as she gently took the bottle from your hand and shook it. ''Ah... it's almost empty. Come on, I'll get you something more harmless to drink.''

With that said, Louise ran to the fridge and looked inside for a long moment. What would be good for a drunk friend? Juice? She was afraid the sugar would make you throw up. Water? It seemed only the minimum. She needed something harmless enough for you to tell her straight away what had happened and dispel the knot of anxiety forming in the pit of her stomach.

''(Y/N), what do you want to drink?'' She asked, looking for anything close to what you were going to answer.

"Poison.'' You replied, grumbling. "Poison, ice and lime.''

Then Louise just picked up a glass of water.

''Come on, (Y/N), what happened?'' She asked, putting her hands on your shoulders. ''Is it to do with that dinner with Thom? Did you accept the date? Did he do anything?''

''No... I mean, yes, but no. Not exactly. He did... but not what you think.''

"Then tell me!''

And you did. Although incoherent and babbling, Louise managed to catch two out of every ten words you said and that seemed enough. She understood that the dinner was in a fancy restaurant called Barmini which was really quiet and empty.

After Thomas, the most quoted element in your story was Susan, for some reason. Susan Foster, an oil research manager and Thom's wife. It wasn't very common to see her around the building. Every month she would show up to deliver something personal to her husband or to complain about the HR department.

Louise wasn't sure why you were being so blabby; the relief of being with someone who would understand, perhaps. But it was meaningless, disconnected babble that she honestly wasn't cerebral enough to decrypt.

''I swear to God, I'm going to kick that co*ckroach's ass!''

''Stay calm, (Y/N)! Who are you going to beat up?''

"Sue, that bitch!''

Then Louise's eyes widened and she was paralyzed for a few seconds.

''What?'' She asked, incredulous. ''Oh, my God... don't tell me she showed up there.''

''No, no...'' You said, grimacing. ''But I'm going to tear her hair out when I see her!''

''(Y/N), are you crazy? She's the dude's wife! Do you want to lose your job?''

''I don't care about this sh*tty job anymore, I can't take it!''

''Tell me what happened, damn it! If Susan didn't do anything, then what did Thom do?''

''What did Thom do? Ah! I'll show you!''

Then you dramatically held out a crumpled, wet piece of paper from your pocket. Its condition made everything written on it illegible. The only word Louise managed to decipher after long seconds was "porcelain", but it wasn't much help.

"What's that?''

''The f*cking invitation to Thom's porcelain wedding anniversary party!''

''Did he invite you?''

''Yes...'' You sobbed. ''He invited me and I think he's going to invite you too... oh, I can't believe it!''

''Ah, (Y/N)....'' You could feel Louise's voice soften as she put a comforting hand on your tired shoulder again. ''You already knew he was married. Why are you acting like a Roberta Flack now?"

"It's because... ah, I shouldn't be saying this, but f*ck it. He called me to that stupid fancy dinner... he even ordered my favorite dish and I thought... damn. He did all that and said he had good news.''

''Hm... go on.''

''I thought... I don't know. I thought something else...''

''What? That he'd split up and was now going to ask you to live with him?''

''No! I mean... no, not that. Not exactly.''

''And the good news was the porcelain wedding? Ah... damn, that hurt even my feelings.'' She grimaced and pursed her lips, still wanting to hear the rest of the story.

"No. That was the second one.''

''And what was the first?''

You bit the inside of your cheek and sat down in a chair.

''He talked about the Ecclesiastes project... Do you know what that is?''

''That one about the corpse that everyone talks about but no one finds?''

''Yes, that's right. The kind of project they need an idiot to go crazy with and spare the bosses.''

''What do you mean?''

"He referred me to this project without asking my permission, Louise.'' You shook your head to clear a strand of hair from in front of your eyes. ''The bastard put me first on the list of guinea pigs!''

''That... that's not good? I remember Mister Campbell saying that you were the most competent employee in the company and that the Ecclesiastes Project was something of, I don't know, stratospheric secrecy, no?"

''Yes, stratospheric secrecy... and I'm telling you now. And I'm sure that in a few months the whole company will know about it! Nobody takes this company and its stratospheric secrecy seriously, Louise. Except me... I look foolish enough for them to trust me with this project.''

''You mean you're going to manage the project now?! Are you sure?''

''Sure? I have no choice! If Thom recommended me right after sucking the balls of the company directors, I'm sure I'll be the first fool to be chosen.''

''I can't understand it. Didn't you want to work on something big? This project is much more than big.''

''No, Louise... this project is a black hole. The directors of the company are going to invest millions in research to find something that doesn't exist. And we won't find anything because... well, because that corpse doesn't exist!''

''So what? You'll still be managing something very big, even if it doesn't exist. Astronomers have been doing this with aliens for decades.''

''Yes, and they never find the damn aliens. But while they don't, a lot of money is lost, and some idiot has to take the blame for the loss!''

''Ah... now I understand. You're going to be the idiot.''

''That's right!''

''But, you see, you still got what you wanted.''

''What? A rope for me to hang myself with? I'm still waiting!''

''No, you fool! Your name is on something big, very big!''

''A big failure!''

''How do you know? You've barely started the research!''

''A project shelved twenty years ago doesn't sound like a very promising investment.''

When you talked about these things, Louise felt she had exactly as much brains as the cuckoo clock in her living room. And speaking of the cuckoo clock, she was late. Perhaps late enough that not even a bullet train could solve her situation.

Louise remembered, at the wrong time, why she was wearing a dress and high heels in her apartment. Luca had invited her to a dinner party, promising to cook for her for the first time something that wasn't strictly Italian. She already imagined that his culinary skills didn't extend far beyond Mediterranean territory, but she was looking forward to going to his house, even if it meant leaving the pile of scraps she called a friend at home.

"Oh sh*t...'' She said. ''I'm sorry, (Y/N), I have to go. But you can stay here. You can't go home drunk like this.''

''Ah? You're going out?''

''I promised to have dinner with Luca tonight, but I'll be back soon. His phone number is on the fridge door, if anything happens call him and I'll get it.''

''What? Ah, Louise, stay with me!''

"If I stay with you every time you have a problem with Thom, I'll never see my boyfriend again!''

''You see him all the time, every day! Come on, stay here!''

''You're drunk, there's a smoothie in the fridge, you can take whatever you want, but don't leave until I get back, okay? I really wanted to stay, but Luca prepared dinner for me, and I can't just cancel it.''

''All right then, Louise! Do you want to go out with Luca? Go out with Luca! But when you get back, you'll find me in the street...'' You sighed to finish speaking, sobbing. ''Because the first thing I'm going to do when you walk through this door is throw myself out of the window!''

''Pff... When you jump, don't leave the window too open.'' She scoffed as she checked her lipstick. ''I think it's going to rain.''

Then she walked back towards the door, not caring much about your threats, already very used to all this. Although she still felt guilty about having to leave, she knew that this wasn't the first time and wouldn't be the last that a fight with Thom would do this to you. What worried her was how long it would last. But then she stopped for a second, cursing the sentimentality.

She sighed and struggled to take you by the arm and sit you down on the couch next to you. You hiccupped and held out the bottle of wine you'd brought, offering her some.

"Yes, thank you.'' Louise picked up the bottle and took a sip, feeling that she needed it to get rid of her nervousness. The hot liquid ran hot as blood down her tongue and turned to fire in her throat, burning away the traces of nausea. ''Do you think you'll get better?''

You didn't look any better and you didn't look like someone who would get better either; you still had tears streaming down your face and your voice was too hoarse to answer.

Louise felt a tightness in her throat for you, and pity replaced irritation. Apart from the issue of your pride, there was now a gap in that unknown and dangerous territory called the Ecclesiastes Project. The project was open-ended before, but at least they had the comforting idea that they would have the resources and proper support to achieve whatever their goals were.

How would you, (Y/N), be, as you felt your professional fear and the responsibility for something so big? The entire research team, as well as the Speedwagon Foundation, depends on you. The decision you make will be followed and will determine the success of this project. You didn't know whether to laugh or cry, thinking about the money the company was investing in your skills. At the moment, Susan, the treacherous snake who manages the oil sector, was doing much better than you, organizing the preparations to celebrate 20 years of marriage.

At the thought of treacherous snakes, Louise felt a new pang that replaced all the lesser fears. Although you're not very vindictive - for your temperament - you would never suffer such pressure with resignation and silence. A responsibility not just for money, but for science and honor. What could you possibly want to do about the possibility of failure?

Louise saw you staring at the dark bottle, your lips tightened.

But then she imagined that the disastrous aspects of Thom's decision had probably not yet entered your drunken mind. You were occupied with a more bitter thought. Thomas Foster kept his mistress on a short leash, limited to a laboratory and other professional perks in exchange for having a little more excitement in his extramarital life. How much more would you have to tolerate because of that?

When she looked at you, you were crying. At first, being used to your constant complaints about Thom, Louise had thought it was just another unsuccessful date. But no. You didn't usually cry over trivial things. But work? That was something completely different.

"I'm a fool... You finally said, sobbing, trying to catch your breath. "Oh, my God, I'm a fool.'' And then you dropped your hands, showing your face, the tears running down your makeup, the grainy trails the mascara made on your cheeks. Then you wiped the back of your hand across your face, but the tears continued to flow from your eyes, as if it were a process entirely out of your control.

And that's what you despaired of; losing control. Getting a job as a researcher at the most renowned oil company in the world, looking for a high position and even sleeping with your boss were choices you made for the sake of control. You wanted to have total control of your life, your career and your feelings, that was the only thing that kept the spark of your worth in this corporate world burning, even when you were dealing with so much disdain and neglect. But now you're going to see that spark of value extinguished with the simple scribble of a pen, with Thom's simple decision to transfer a responsibility that should be his to his foolish lover. What could you do, anyway?

"It's not your fault.'' Louise said, touching your knee. "Don't cry.''

''And how do you know?'' You asked quietly. Without looking at her. ''I knew who he was. I could have been a decent woman and rejected him... but I didn't. I'm just paying for it.''

"You had no choice. If you rejected him, he could end your career. It's not the same as it seems in your head.''

"But it almost is.'' You retorted.

Louise took a deep breath. The air was refreshing inside the apartment and the rain was approaching. You picked up the bottle again and drank what was left of it, then looked at Louise for the first time.

"Thank you.'' You said. "I'm sorry about earlier, I... you can go, I won't make you late.''

"Don't worry, you've already made me late.''

You both laughed, although you did it embarrassed. Louise got up to go into the kitchen and you stood there for a moment, looking down at the zebra rugs. The tears were still rolling down your face, but it was like rain washing off a polished granite surface.

The door closed with a hissing sound and you were left alone, except for the paintings displayed above the television. There were two large scented candles on the coffee table. Smooth and colorful, they burned steadily in the still air, without flickering. Everything that had happened to you in that company swirled around in your mind in a whirlwind of disjointed thoughts and feelings. Without a coat, you shivered on the short walk to Louise's house, but gradually you warmed up again and your previously tense hands relaxed in your lap when you turned on the television.

No channel seemed to be suitably optimistic, so you stopped trying to find one, pausing on a news report about the sinking of a bulk carrier. You closed your eyes for a moment, just listening to the news about the unfortunate incident of the SS Edmund Fitzgerald, which didn't interest you enough to keep you awake.

"Hey, (Y/N), can you hear me?'' Louise said. "I asked if you wanted some water.''

You didn't know how long she'd been asking you that, holding out the leather canteen to you, her movements limited by the strain of being on top of a half-ton animal.

''Are you all right, (Y/N)? Did one of those mosquitoes get in your ear?'' She asked again. ''If you make me fall off that horse, I'm going to die!''

"Oh, sorry.'' You shook your head and laughed, picking up the canteen and thanking her. ''Don't be so dramatic, they seem quite harmless.''

"They're harmless when you're on top of them.'' She retorted. ''Now try having a horse like that on top of you.''

Having no good counter-argument, you just smiled and drank your water while watching the silhouette of the two men ahead.

At first, you were so relieved to be with your friend and out of danger that you didn't say much. To cross the flat surface of the woods, all four horses seemed harmoniously willing to carry you and your friends without much effort and you rode without knowing exactly how, just copying everything Johnny and Gyro did beside you. Hands together on the reins, sometimes one would relax and tidy up a strand of hair that was sticking to their face or scare away a mosquito. Feet slightly leaning in the stirrups, posture upright, Gyro being an exception. When you had managed to reproduce and pass on your observations to Louise, who also seemed to be in great difficulty, you relaxed, rejoicing in the sensation of your skin being warmed by the sun. Whatever problems you might face - and you knew there were many - you were not alone. That was enough.

When the first impact of tranquility ripened into the splendor of companionship, you started talking again. At first, about the region you were crossing. Then, cautiously, about you and Louise and where you came from. You both answered the simplest questions, such as your full name, where you were born, what you did for a living... Then they began to be fascinated by your descriptions of modern life, although you could see that most of your stories seemed like fairy tales to them.

Gyro was fascinated when Louise described the most common conveniences: basic sanitation, hot baths every day, ready-made food, television, cameras... She stuck to simple things, and it wasn't long before she was talking about Sapore Di Calapria, Luca's restaurant. She had no trouble clarifying her life - although she had to explain more than twice what the HR department she worked in was - and Gyro seemed disappointed to discover that your friend was not a lonely widow looking for company. She was a very well-off woman engaged to a chef who, honestly, was a much better option than Gyro.

Now, Johnny especially loved your descriptions of cars, tanks and planes and began to ride by your side to make you describe them over and over again, in as much detail as possible.

"You mean they set foot on the moon? And then what? Did they start living there?'' It was one of his questions after you talked about the Apollo 11 spaceflight.

You laughed, finding it rather amusing how amazed he was. Johnny would have loved to see that on television, you thought.

"Oh, no... They came back, but they took lots of photos and put the country's flag there."

''You said you used satellites... did they also leave machines there for you to use?''

''Yes and no... These satellites are used to observe the earth and help us communicate with the rest of the world, and they are not on the moon, but orbiting our planet. There is a device we call GPS, which is a way of tracking something in real-time. For example, let's say I put a tracker on your horse... even though I'm in Washington, I could locate you here. We did something like that with the Devil's Palm, but instead of trackers we evaluated the geological patterns of the place.''

''Huh... sounds like a very difficult job.'' He said, somewhat impressed. ''But is that something archaeologists do? I thought archaeology was only for ancient things. This way of tracing the Devil's Palm sounds... hum... too technological?''

''Well... yes, you're right. I didn't graduate for that...''

''So you really are a graduate?'' Gyro butted in. ''I've never met a graduate woman.''

''I'm not surprised. But yes, I studied archaeology for five years and specialized in geoarchaeology and history.''

"And in paleontology too, no?'' Louise made a point of adding, amused. ''I remember you nearly killed some poor bastard for a place in Mesozoic research.''

"Everything I know from the Triassic period onwards is just courtesy of the college.'' You said, looking at her over your shoulder and then at Gyro and Johnny. ''Louise is also a graduate, did you know that?''

''Ha, yes... but you probably don't know what it is.'' She said.

''Some study of the future?'' Gyro asked. ''Sounds interesting, what is it?''

"Human resource management.''

As expected, they had no idea what this was, but they had the decency to ask for a few seconds to think before Louise explained.

"Human resources management?'' Gyro swallowed. ''You manage other people's resources?''

''How is that supposed to work?'' Johnny asked.

''Well, ha... you're not wrong, Gyro.'' She said, finding it funny. ''I trained in this to do what I do in the HR department; manage people. My job is to ensure that the company performs well and that all employees and collaborators get along better. If there is a conflict, I resolve it. If there isn't, I take the credit for it. Louise, the conqueror of peace.''

"Ah, yes... peace.'' You muttered. ''You've worked harder than many of the researchers.''

''Having to deal with all the complaints they made against you? You're damn right.''

"So... you were only hired to avoid fights, is that it?'' Johnny asked. ''Why would a company spend money on that?''

''Essentially yes, but we also deal with... well, we try to deal with cases of sexual and moral harassment. We also pick up talents, review people for the bosses, and recommend transfers or ask for reinforcements. In cases of diplomacy I'm also very useful; this corpse only arrived at the company because I knew how to talk to the farmer who found it.''

You could almost hear Gyro thinking "women" as he looked back at the road.

A few seconds after the direct mention of the corpse, the four of you became uncommunicative, isolated from each other, enclosed in small individual pockets of silence, within the greater silence of the woods.

Your fists clenched in your coat pockets as you felt safe enough to let go of the reins and leave Judas to follow the other horses on his own. You absent-mindedly held small fragments of objects that you had taken out of your old wallet and put away; the half-used carton of cigarettes, and a tiny rubber ball left on the floor of your laboratory by one of the visitors. Your thumb circled and identified the crimped edge of a twenty-cent coin, the wide face in high relief.

You took the coin and looked at it, useless, cold and, in a way, one of dozens of proofs that you didn't belong there. Every hour that passed, every day, every night, it seemed that a part of you disappeared, renewing itself in something completely different. As if little by little the remnants of your era were disappearing, making the coin a more useful proof of your situation than your own body, born 40 years from now.

As necessary as it was, talking about the future - which was also your past - to Gyro and Johnny was exhausting and painful.

You had no idea what their thoughts were. One moment, you and Louise were rich - potentially rich, at least - and the next, more miserable than you'd ever been in your entire lives. Your well-equipped expedition to New Jersey had been reduced to a canteen of water and just one eye of the corpse. There was no longer any way to achieve your goal of not looking like beggars negotiating for the corpse, because that was all you were at the moment.

Everything was an adventure. Even your painful car journey to the Devil's Palm had been an adventure, with the certainty that you had a fortune, regardless of whether it could be used or not. But having the certainty of security ripped away from you in this violent way had given you a sudden and very unexpected attack of vertigo, as if you were falling into a dark pool, unable to stop.

"About the corpse... what do you plan to do?'' You finally asked, not caring which of the two would answer.

''I was thinking we could discuss it after we've found a place to camp.'' Johnny replied calmly.

''What? Do you still need to discuss it? Do you even know where we're going?!''

''To the nearest station and then to the port.'' Gyro replied. ''That's something we both agree on, isn't it, Johnny?''

''Yes, it's the only option we have.''

''It's not the only one...'' Gyro grumbled. ''It's just the safest.''

''It's the right thing to do. Besides, the corpse was under her supervision. We need to ask her what happened.''

''That's if she knows anything. Well, Johnny, let's see if I understand... Someone took this corpse from its hiding place without that girl knowing. It was (Y/N) and Louise who found the corpse, but...'' Gyro frowned as he looked at the horizon. ''But that will only happen... eighty years from now? But now, in the present, it has already happened, because we have the eye of the corpse. But it hasn't happened yet... Holy sh*t, Johnny! I'd rather have died sooner so I wouldn't have had to deal with this mess now!''

''Well, they didn't say anything about taking the corpse out of the bunker. So we know that they didn't take it, but found it... more than a hundred miles away from where it was supposed to be. At some point, the whole corpse will end up here, in New Jersey, for some reason. Then eighty years from now Louise and (Y/N) will find it and... come back here?''

They looked at you, including Louise, as if somehow you had an answer to that.

"Wait...'' You tried to get away from the most confusing subject. ''Was the corpse under her supervision? Who are you talking about?''

Gyro and Johnny looked at each other, blue flashes crossing with green flashes, then bouncing back to you.

"An old friend.'' Johnny replied. ''We don't think she'll know what to do in this situation, but it's safer and fairer to tell her what's going on. She lives with her husband in Manhattan. Her name is Lucy and she's quite young... How old must she be now, Gyro?''

''I don't know... sixteen?''

"Sixteen?! And she's married?!'' Louise asked, astonished.

''Wait, you left the corpse under the supervision of a sixteen-year-old girl and you're wondering why it's no longer in its hiding place?'' You asked in sequence, as dumbfounded as your friend.

Just then, for a second, you saw the golden glow of Gyro's smile.

''We'll have time to talk about it later and, if all goes well, in Lucy's company. Until then, just worry about staying alive.''

''If you gave us some weapons, everything would be easier...'' You grumbled.

''I told you, doll, I don't want you to lose your teeth because I let you use a revolver. You have the hands of a painter, you won't have the strength to use one.''

"I've seen women who used two revolvers at the same time.'' Louise intervened, like a lawyer defending the accused. "They at least looked weaker than (Y/N).''

Although you were sure she'd seen it in some Hollywood production, Gyro didn't know that, and any positive point for you would be useful.

''Um... she's certainly been trained for it.'' He argued. ''What about you? Are you trained? Have you young scientists ever used a revolver on a live target? As far as I know, weapons tend to become lighter. I bet the revolvers of your time are as light as a pen!"

It would have been nice if Louise had a counter-argument she'd seen in a movie, but from the grunt she made, that wasn't the case.

You looked up at the sky; long strands of orange clouds were drawing across the firmament. It wouldn't rain for a while, that was good. You shrugged and scratched your head. The ride began to awaken you to a comfort that paid no attention to the pain in your hip. It was cold in the shadows under the trees, but the sun was still strong enough for you to feel it every time you crossed an open area. Your muscles warmed up and relaxed, and by the time you had crossed the third wood of the day, you had begun to feel like yourself again, albeit temporarily, solidly integrated into the physical world of that forest and that time. What must that place have become in your time? You looked for an answer and grunted when you concluded. Probably a Starbucks.

"Louise.'' You heard Johnny say. "Can you tell me more about your husband, Luca Brando?''

''Oh? Brando?'' She questioned, then looked at you. ''Brando is definitely the (Y/N) version. His name is Luca Bellini.''

Then a pair of eyes in your direction soon became three and you snorted.

"Johnny asked me his last name and I didn't know.''You explained yourself. "The only Italians I know are from The Godfather, so... Luca Brando. But I didn't know that these two here have a... feud with a guy with the same surname.''

''A guy with the same surname? Could he be an ancestor of Marlon Brando?'' She asked, laughing.

"I wondered the same thing. But no, it doesn't look like it.''

''But damn, (Y/N), what bad luck... there are so many Italians around...''

''So many?! Then tell me another one that isn't from The Godfather!''

''Giorgio Armani?''

''f*ck you.''

''Andrea Bocelli, Luciano Pavarotti... Come on, think of an Italian! It's not that hard.''

''I don't know... Mussolini?''

''Jesus, a good Italian!'' She said, laughing. ''For God's sake, you almost called my boyfriend Mussolini!''

''Then don't complain that I chose Brando!''

''Okay, hold on, hold on, ladies!'' Extremely confused, Gyro interrupted your discussion with Louise. ''So he's not called Brando, is that it? Was it all a big misunderstanding?''

"That's it!'' You and Louise answered in unison.

Seeing that both he and Johnny looked confused, you sighed and slumped your shoulders, feeling sorry for them and for yourself. You winced when Gyro looked at you with new interest, and then you looked away, using Louise as a refuge.

You and Louise stared at each other in silence for a long moment, suddenly connected by the prospect of the future.

"Tell me more about your plans.'' She finally said and, turning her horse around, managed to get closer to you while looking at the two men. Vegas' hooves bounced off the freshly-spread earth of the trail. ''We already know that we're going to visit a friend of yours, but can't you tell us who she is? And what about that Brando guy, what does he have to do with all this now?''

Chapter 15: Southern Nights

Chapter Text

You could feel your companions close by, surrounding you in the darkness. Gyro hummed a stupidly catchy song and Johnny carried the heaviest canteen of water; you could hear the creak of the leather bag against the material of the saddle and the water shaking inside, moving as Slow Dancer walked.

It was a torturous journey to the station, there's nowhere darker than the 19th century in the middle of a cloud-covered night. You could see the tiny glow of the many fireflies that passed by from time to time, silhouetting Johnny's head and shoulders with sudden patterns of light. Gyro was bent forward, resting his arms on Valkyrie's neck. Louise was also bent over, curled up on a blanket beside you. The three of you were uncommunicative.

Johnny slowed down, getting off the dirt track, full of bumps, which ran along the top of a hill.

"I can't see anything.'' He said. He hadn't spoken for so long that the statement came out abrupt and hoarse, sounding belligerent.

"Well, of course not.'' Gyro said impatiently. "Let's set up camp here.''

Johnny grumbled in response and slowed down even more, dismounting. Gyro's nerves were obviously tense and tired, but Johnny's were too. Only Louise seemed calm, unaffected by the growing air of exhaustion in the place.

You slid off your horse as soon as more lamps were lit. You glanced at Louise, who rode ahead, impetuously, to the clearing they had chosen to camp in. Watching the pale figure wander like a ghost in front of you, you were forcefully reminded of the trail you had taken to the Devil's Palm, your last night in the 20th century. Louise remembered too; she hesitated and you heard her mutter something nervously in mid-voice, but then her hand caught your elbow - whether to encourage you or to beg for your support, you didn't know. The gesture reassured you, either way.

It was a cloudy night, with a moon, but very dark, with nothing but the light of the newly lit campfire to distinguish the trees around you. You stopped and sat around the fire. Johnny, evidently exhausted, slept immediately and Gyro seemed to be putting the finishing touches to a safe camp - both against insects and wild animals.

Just like every other night, you were the last to sleep.

Trembling with nervousness in the vast clearing, you grabbed your elbows and approached the fire, where you dropped to your knees. Your impulse was to take advantage of the privacy to have a hysterical outburst. On the other hand, you feared that if you gave vent to your short-lived emotions, you would never be able to curb them again. You closed your eyes tightly and watched the red flicker of the firelight on the back of your eyelids, trying to calm yourself down.

After all, you weren't in any danger at the moment, and you were about two days away from the train station. Johnny seemed to know every peasant and every tinker, every farm and every mansion in four parishes. A message from Joe Kid would travel through the network of news and gossip as fast as wind-blown clouds pass over the mountains. That is, of course, if he wanted to attract any attention, which was not the case at the moment.

"Don't be ridiculous.'' You muttered. ''Those two men are almost soldiers. Of course you'll make it.'' The echo of your words against the crackling fire was somehow comforting. ''And that being so,'' You continued firmly, still talking to hear yourself. "you and Louise will go home.''

Right, you thought suddenly. And Creed's men will be waiting for you when you arrive to get the corpse back. You and Louise are the women who dug up the corpse and, with it, all its coveted miracles. That was your only attribute of value.

The sheer indignity of the image provoked a small but welcome burst of anger that made the fear recede a little. You tried to fan the flames of anger by getting up and pacing back and forth, thinking of new names to call Creed the next time you met him. In your compositions, you caught the eye of one of your companions.

The shadows under the trees were as black as ink. Orange light flickered in the damp, muggy wind. You meditated for a while, finally taking advantage of the fact that Gyro had kept that bottle of wine. It wasn't a cold night, but a glass of wine would be nice; you chose one of the cups Gyro offered and took the wine in small sips. Sometimes he was also the last to sleep.

It was mid-October. The beginning of boreal fall. You could no longer remember how many days ago you had made your unexpected trip into the past.

Could there be something about the time of year? No, probably not; perhaps the corpse and the devil's palm were the only factors. You asked Gyro to pour you more wine.

Could it be that only a few people could break through a barrier, solid for all the others; maybe something in the genetic? Who knew? Many other people have been in the Devil's palm and with the corpse, and none of them disappeared like you and Louise. You asked yourself, for the thousandth time, why you had done all that. Why did you steal the corpse? Why did you and Louise do it? Some kind of hysterical outburst? Criminal tendencies? Whether you were criminals or crazy made little difference at the moment. You should have left it alone, stayed at home, and let yourselves meet your destinies at the right time.

"The right time...'' You said aloud. "And what would be the right time?'' Gyro looked at you in confusion.

''Huh?'' He exclaimed.

"Never mind.'' You said, too distracted to care much about what he thought of you. ''We'd better buy some more wine in the next town.''

You finished your wine surrounded by ghosts. Gyro and Johnny were nothing more than walking corpses from the past to you. When you were born, they were probably already dead, rotting and disappearing. When you graduated, no one remembered them. When you finished the Ecclesiastes Project, only distant and empty echoes of their existence were rescued in a university library. It was disheartening to look at those two men after hearing all their history, all their achievements, their conquests, their passions and their defeats... a hundred years from now, forgotten amidst the dust of their bones.

The next morning, you were always woken up to a sort of lottery between Johnny, Louise and Gyro. Any alternative was better than Gyro, since he always made a point of taking the blanket off you or pushing you into the cold grass.

Like most other days, it was sunny. You were so tired of your new routine that you didn't do much more than drink the hot tea Johnny insisted on making and then doze off in the saddle. Today, however, you woke up with renewed energy and determination for some reason - which you'd imagine was the fact that the end of this ride was approaching.

"What's going to happen to the horses?'' You asked Johnny at one point.

"What do you mean?''

''I mean what's going to happen at the train station. Will they stay?''

''Of course not. There are wagons for horses, didn't you know that?"

''Oh... do we need to pay for the horses' tickets?''

He snorted a laugh, looking back at the road as if he found it funny.

''Of course not, why would we pay for horse tickets?''

''Well, I don't know! In a century we won't be using horses or... or trains!''

''But how it is when you have to travel long distances?''

''Well, Louise and I went from Washington to New Jersey in my car, but we could have taken a bus or... I don't know, a plane. We just didn't have the money.''

And so the travels were punctuated with vague but sometimes useful conversations.

"Hey, Johnny.'' At one point, after a few hours, Gyro said. ''Isn't all this funny?''

''What?''

Then he gave a nostalgic, slightly ironic smile.

''What else, Johnny? Two years have passed, and here we are traveling in the middle of nowhere again. And I was thinking I was going to be able to live until my retirement.''

''Ah, those two years of rest weren't bad... but I missed it.''

''What? Don't tell me you missed that damn race.''

''Maybe. But I missed you too, Gyro.'' Johnny said without objection, and that clearly disconcerted Gyro. ''I guess things were simpler during the race, right? Just collect the parts of the corpse and ride.''

"'Hm, and try not to die in the process.'' Gyro said dismissively, but it didn't sound like a sincere sentiment.

''Yes, of course, that was important too. But much more exciting than living in New Jersey, if you ask me.''

"Living in New Jersey must be more exciting than living in Naples.''

Despite being aware of the remarkable events that Gyro and Johnny told you about, you didn't have a very clear idea of what those two experienced. You didn't know what it was like to cross the country on horseback, let alone what it was like to fight for the corpse. It was appropriate to say that you had never, in fact, taken a life-threatening risk close to what they had experienced. Their deeds were worthy of renown, and you still didn't have a good idea of why all this wouldn't stand the test of time.

It was interesting, however, to hear them talk and reminisce about their past glories.

"I can't complain that we're back in action.'' Johnny finally said.

''You're right, it may be good for both of us.'' Gyro agreed in a softened, humorous voice. ''And nothing screams back in action more than meeting two women from the future.''

Yes, the universe has a sense of humor as peculiar as Gyro's, you thought as you watched him laugh and lean back in his saddle, looking at you and Louise.

"Did you ladies know that I've already lost a leg and an arm? Completely blown off!'' He said proudly.

"Your legs and arms look well attached to your body to me.'' Louise commented, amused.

''Yes, of course, it was thanks to the meat spray of a friend of ours.'' He glanced slightly at Johnny. "Soundman. Do you remember, Johnny?''

''When he attacked us on the Mississippi River? How could I forget that? We almost died because of you.''

''Oh? Because of me? What do you mean?''

''You could have told me what the lesson was to be able to defeat him once and for all, without taking so long.''

''Well, you should have met the condition so that I could tell you!''

''Did you really prefer to almost die waiting for this instead of just handing me your belt?''

''Saying that you couldn't do it four times was that hard, Johnny? You've never been that proud, it was simple!''

You, hopelessly confused by the conversation, looked at Louise, who seemed more than interested. Knowing from experience how difficult it was to divert her attention from this kind of talk, you simply looked back at the long road, hoping to fall asleep in the saddle again.

Louise asked very useful questions that generated interesting answers. Both you and she assured them you would be delighted to hear more stories and, although Gyro and Johnny placidly accepted your oblivious behavior, they also paid attention to Louise's interest.

''(Y/N) told me some tales about the Devil's Palm, and it seems that they are partly true. Especially the one about magical powers... stand abilities, right? We've been to the Devil's Palm, do you think we have something like that?"

Gyro stared at her incisively for a moment, his head tilted to the side like an old hawk, but finally seemed to decide that her curiosity about their opinion was genuine.

"I think traveling a hundred years into the past is already a magical power, isn't it?'' He said.

It wasn't a satisfactory answer, but very logical - within the parameters of the situation - and perhaps right. You were ahead of most of the answers, although you couldn't put aside your nap to hear everything. In response to Louise's attempts to find out what kind of connections Gyro and Johnny had, the two men were, at least on Johnny's part, elegantly evasive. Like a corrupt politician in an interview.

Gyro had no problem answering the most inoffensive questions. Making use of all the modulations, all the coarse gestures, posture and voice that you've previously known, to stare at you with perhaps a tenuous glint of crystalline irony.

How was the last stage? Oh, insane. How? Barbaric. Why did you give up the race? We were badly injured and the race was no longer important. And Diego Brando? He went his own megalomaniac way. Whoever wounded you fought for a long time? Only as long as he could stand it. And who was he? Just the current president. Simply the 23rd President of the United States, no objections, no contradictions. But was he also looking for the corpse? Obviously yes. Is he alive? Obviously not. And what was he like? "Oh, he was funny" Gyro concluded with an abrupt sigh, taking the canteen of water in his hand and drinking it.

The ride had been like all the others, the difference being that it might be the last. The sour autumn night had fallen much faster than the other days.

"Damn, I feel like my butt is getting flatter and flatter because of this saddle.'' Louise said as you dismounted from your horses in a clearing.

"You at least used to exercise.'' You said. ''At least a lot more than I did. My butt is in more danger.''

''Ha! That didn't sound very good, (Y/N).''

You laughed, realizing what you had said. Your laughter made Johnny look back slightly, forgetting his task of stretching out the sleeping bags, but soon returning.

"Um, maybe it's not like that...'' Louise commented distractedly, crossing her arms as she looked back at Johnny.

''What?''

''Maybe horseback riding has just the opposite effect. I mean... just look.'' She nodded slightly in Johnny's direction.

It took you a few seconds to understand, but when you did, you wondered how you'd never noticed it before, strange and inappropriate though it was.

"Holy sh*t... it's bigger than mine!'' You said.

"Right? Nineteenth-century-cowboy my ass, I'm sure that's silicone.''

"But isn't silicone just for boobs?''

"Some singers use it in their butts, too.''

"It seems uncomfortable..." You sighed, shyly looking away from Johnny and then towards Gyro. ''But look... Gyro also rides on horseback.''

When Louise looked, her coppery eyebrows rose in amazement.

''Damn! So it's fifty-fifty? Our butts can become two balloons just as they can become two frying pans?''

"Keep it down, Louise!''

And you both laughed, attracting the attention of both Gyro and Johnny who, curious, approached when their current tasks were done.

"Good to know you ladies are having fun.'' Said Gyro, with a hint of irony. ''Especially after the things we've told you.''

''Ha, yeah.'' Louise agreed jokingly, hoping to distract from the previous subject. ''Murder, religious and state terrorism, conspiracy... You both sound like very dangerous people.''

It only worked a little; one corner of Gyro's mouth lifted and a green eye glinted over his shoulder in your direction.

"Oh, I am, but Johnny... I'm not sure.'' He said, mockingly.

"Well, at the moment you seem pretty harmless.'' You said.

This was totally untrue; with his hair messed up, no hat, sweaty and dirty and purple circles under his eyes from the long journey, he looked scary.

Gyro laughed, surprisingly deep.

"Harmless as a pigeon.'' He agreed. ''I'm too hungry to be a threat to anything other than a meal. But let a loaf of bread that's just been baked pass by and I won't answer for the consequences! Nyo-ho-ho!''

And so they went back to work. Johnny had caught two good-sized rabbits earlier and it was up to Gyro to gather twigs to light the fire. They walked back and forth in the shadows, doing chores and muttering little comments while Louise got ready for bed and you brushed the horses without much skill. The two men moved with unusual slowness, seeming to disappear into the night, discouraged by fatigue.

''Find a place to sleep, (Y/N).'' Said Johnny, stopping to help you take care of the horses while Gyro went out to fetch some wood. The night was so clear that the only use for the fire would be to warm up the camp. "I'll take care of the rest.''

It wasn't even necessary to heat the camp with a fire. The temperature hadn't dropped since night fell, but the air felt cooler near the water and you perked up a little.

"I can't sleep if I don't get a shower.'' You said, pushing your soaked blouse away from your chest. "I feel terrible.'' Your hair was sticking to your temples with sweat and you felt dirty and itchy. The water in one of the surrounding lakes looked cold and inviting.

Johnny gave you a sympathetic look, smoothing his hair out of the way of his cap.

"I can't say I don't understand you. But be careful, there may be animals or strangers in the area. Take a knife and shout if you need help, don't go too far from the camp so I can hear you."

You laughed as you looked at him.

''Jeez, take it easy, Johnny... I'm going to take a shower, not to the battlefield.''

''Then be careful with the water. The lakes in this area are very deep and the streams are fast-flowing, with strong currents.''

"I'll stay close to the shore.'' You pointed downstream, where a small point of land marked a bend in the stream, its willows shining silver in the moonlight.

''Hm... there should be a counter-current. Be careful.'' He said again, and squeezed your shoulder to say goodbye.

When you turned around, you left Louise and Johnny at the camp. Down the slope, the rushing of the stream masked most of the ordinary sounds of the night. You saw a bat blinking in the middle of a moonlit patch of water, searching for insects too small to see, and disappear into the night. If anything else crept into the dark, it was silent.

There was a grassy area around the point below the willows. You undressed slowly, enjoying the feel of the breeze coming off the water through the damp fabric of your clothes, and the final freedom when the last pieces of clothing fell to the ground, leaving you naked for the night.

You happily waded into the water, which was surprisingly cold compared to the warm night air. The ground beneath your feet was mostly mud, but it became fine sand a meter from the shore.

Although it was a flowing stream, you were at the top and the water was fresh and sweet. You drank and washed your face, clearing the dust from your throat and nose.

You waded in up to your thighs, thinking of Johnny's warnings about currents. After the stifling heat of the day and the heavy night air, the feeling of coolness on your bare skin was a great relief. You scooped up the cold water with your hands and wet your face and chest. The drops ran down your stomach and dripped coldly between your legs.

You could feel the pressure of the water coming, lapping gently against your calves, and carrying you towards the shore. But you weren't ready to get out yet. There was no soap, but you knelt and dipped your hair several times in the clear water and rubbed your body with handfuls of fine sand until you felt your skin thin and shiny.

Finally, you got up and lay down on a rock, languid as a mermaid, in the moonlight, with the warmth of the air and the sun-warmed stone comforting your now cold body. You combed your hair with your fingers, spreading drops of water. The wet stone smelled of rain; dusty and tingling.

You felt very tired, but at the same time very alive, in that state of light awareness in which thinking slows down and light physical sensations increase. You ran your bare feet more slowly over the sedimentary rock, taking advantage of the slight friction.

A noise in the water made you look ahead, above the rock you were lying on. Nothing moved on the surface of the water but the twinkling of stars, caught like fireflies in a spider's web. As you watched, a golden head appeared in the middle of the current, and water dripped from its broad shoulders. The muscles stood out against the delicate movement of the arms that pulled the blonde locks back, heavy with the water. Gyro swam closer to the shore, floating like a child having fun in a natural pool, watching the little fish with his face immersed.

Then he stood up again and stopped for a moment on the brighter side of the stream, his back to you, his tanned skin a dark shadow framing his blond hair. Like a primitive painting, you thought. Something out of Rousseau, with his contrast of total savagery, immobility and beauty.

You had to hold back your laughter when he turned around, looking lost as he gazed around, his buttocks white and taut in the half-light. Then he dived again, disappearing like a newt. There was nothing left but the flickering white silhouette under the water, comfortable and unaware of your presence. There was nothing on the shore but trees, hiding what might be behind them. And what was there? You asked yourself. More trees, answered the logical part of your mind.

"A lot more...'' You murmured, your eyes following Gyro.

Your body was illuminated by the moonlight, with cold domes dotted with transparent droplets. What a magical place, you thought. What magical men. The night was silent and calm, but with a languid atmosphere that was like floating in a warm sea. Near the coast, the sky was clear, and the stars shone like diamonds, with a clear, intense light.

Civilization, even the primitive kind you were beginning to get used to, was nothing more than a thin, growing line on the edge of the continent. Some good miles from the coast, you were beyond the outskirts of the city and the countryside. And beyond that point, there were some more good miles... of what? Of forest, certainly, and of danger. Adventure, too... and freedom.

It was a new world, after all, without fear and filled with temporary joy, because now you had the help of Gyro and Johnny, and you knew you couldn't get any better than that. Separation and grief were also behind you now that you had Louise by your side. Not even thinking about your old life was causing you remorse. Of course, you missed it terribly and thought about it all the time, but you knew there was nothing good waiting for you there, which made the distance a little easier to bear. The good coexistence with Gyro and Johnny that was gradually being achieved also helped a lot.

You remained lying on the rock, the trapped heat of the day radiating from its surface into your body. You were happy just to be alive. The drops of water dried on your shoulders as you looked on, turning into a layer of moisture and then disappearing altogether.

Small clouds of mosquitoes flew over the water. You couldn't see them, but you knew they were there because of the sounds of fish jumping to catch them in the air.

Insects were an omnipresent plague. You examined Gyro and Johnny discreetly during the ride, they were always pulling voracious ticks and mites out of their skin. They covered themselves in the juice of crushed pennyroyal leaves. This prevented them from being eaten alive by the clouds of mosquitoes, mites and powderposts that lurked in the sun-darkened shadows of the woods. But it didn't stop groups of nosy insects from driving them mad with buzzing and invading their ears, eyes, noses and mouths.

Strangely, most of the insects didn't attack you and Louise. She joked that you used so much insect repellent that it remained on your skin, but you thought it was something else. Even after you had finished your swim, the insects showed no interest in disturbing you.

You thought it might be a manifestation of the evolutionary strangeness that protected you from colds and simple illnesses there. The bloodthirsty insects, like the microbes, had an evolution similar to that of human beings, and were sensitive to the slight chemical signals of their hosts. As you came from another era, you no longer had the same signals and, consequently, the insects no longer saw you as prey.

You stuck your fingers in the water and splashed a few drops on a dragonfly perched on your rock, just a transparent shadow because its colors had been taken over by the darkness.

Squinting again to see if Gyro was still there, you caught just a glimpse of his body before he disappeared. You watched the subtle movements of his body, the light changing in the angles of his face as he wiped the water from his eyes. That man had a strange aura. It was like observing something from another world, with that sensation that made your palms tingle with the desire to touch him out of sheer curiosity. To touch it to see if it was made of human skin or ivory. Whether his hair was real or like that of a gorgon.

Then a warm breeze blew past you and Gyro disappeared. You then lay face down on the rock, as if it was going to protect you from something. And you felt that cold chill in your stomach as if some creature from the depths was about to pull your feet. That feeling wouldn't go away until Gyro was back within range of your eyes.

"Where the hell are you, Gyro Zeppeli?'' You murmured softly.

"Right here.'' Came the gruff reply.

Startled, you looked around, unable to turn around for fear of breaking away from the protection the rock provided. He was in the stream, in front of you, two meters away, with the water up to his hips. Lines of hair appeared dark against the pale glow of his body. His hair was loose around his shoulders, framing a bone-white face in the moonlight, unblinking eyes as alert as a wolf's. Completely wild and immobile.

"You scared me!''

"How can you be scared by something you've already seen?''

You stopped and blushed pathetically. Then Gyro moved and walked towards you, respecting the cover the rock provided for you, but at the same time not minding being naked in front of you, even though you couldn't see much apart from fleeting shadows in the dark.

"I got here first, you already knew I was here!'' You immediately defended yourself in any way you could.

He laughed in such a way that you could feel the resonant vibration in his chest.

''To be honest, I didn't know you were here. Johnny told me you'd gone to bathe in a lake, so I came to the stream, and here you are."

"I didn't tell him I was going to a lake.''

"But he told me you were in a lake. In the end, can we agree to blame Johnny?'' He said, swatting an annoying mosquito away from his shoulder, looked at you and then at the stream. ''The meat's already on the fire, don't you want to come back and eat?''

You shuddered at the thought of eating the stringy, bitter meat of a rabbit stretched out on a stick, dripping brine on the coals, its lifeless boiled eyes staring at you.

"No, it's all yours.''

He looked at you slightly.

"You know you can't live on fruit and oat bread, right?''

''If I'm alive so far, yes, I can.''

''What did you eat in your century to be so picky now? Golden apples?''

''Ah, let me think...'' You paused to think, looking up and then at the stream, searching for something in your memory. Or at least something you'd love to eat right now. ''Beef stew. I always ate at my parents' house and at a restaurant near the building where I worked. Have you ever tried it?''

"I don't think so, but I know what you mean.''

''Oh, my... let's stop talking about this before I get hungry.''

''Right, if you say so...'' He squirmed, the wet strands of hair sticking to the ridges of his back. ''God, it's hot as hell!''

"It'll get hotter in a century, don't worry.'' You assured him. "And absurdly colder in winter.''

''Hmm... maybe.'' He brushed his drenched hair away from his forehead. ''It's a good thing I won't be alive to see it.''

''You never know... in high school, when I studied how women suffered in the 19th century, I thought how lucky I was to have been born in more modern times... and look at me now, riding horses and bathing in streams.''

He leaned on the rock you were standing on with the grace of a heavy log, laughing.

''The difference between you and me, signorina archeologa, is that I don't stick my nose in where it doesn't belong.''

"Are you sure?''

He didn't answer, which proved how unsure he was. The two of you remained there for a while, you refreshed, lying on the rock and he on the other side leaning on it, respecting your space and the limits to which the rock hid your body. The last drops of water evaporated from your skin. On the other side of the stream, the willows lay their leaves in the water, their tops against the dark of the rising moon. Beyond that point, the willows took up the entire area, miles of virgin forest, and civilization now occupied no more than a foothold on the edge of the continent.

Gyro saw the direction of your gaze and guessed your thoughts.

"This is all going to be very different, isn't it?'' He nodded in the direction of the dark leaves.

''Ah, a bit.'' You said. ''The roads will be paved. Not cobblestones, but covered in that hard, smooth stuff, asphalt."

"Um, that doesn't sound bad.'' He grumbled in amusem*nt.

You ignored him and continued, looking at the moving shadows as if you could see the huge cities that would one day spring up there.

"There will be a lot more people here. New states, like Oklahoma... that's where my parents are. But for now...'' You shivered slightly, despite the hot, humid air. ''For now, it's just Indian land being wiped out. There's nothing there.''

"Yes, nothing but bloodthirsty natives.'' He said with ease. "And wild animals, of course.''

"Ah, yes.'' You agreed. "I think so.''

That idea was disturbing. Of course you knew, academically and vaguely, that the woods were inhabited by natives, bears, and other forest dwellers, but this general idea had suddenly been replaced by a particular and stronger awareness that you could easily, and unexpectedly, bump into one of these dwellers.

"What happens to them? To the natives?'' Gyro asked curiously, peering into the darkness like you, as if trying to guess the future among the moving shadows. "They'll be defeated and repelled, won't they?''

Another slight shiver ran through you, and your toes twitched.

"Yes, they will.'' You said wistfully. "Dead, a lot of them.''

"Hm, I can't tell if that's good or bad.'' He said. ''Bad for them, for sure. But at least there won't be any more conflict or danger.''

"You can't blame them for the conflicts.'' You protested.

''Well, certainly, if one of them hurts me, I'll blame him a lot.''

''Ah, well...'' You sniffled and tried again. ''Well, what if a bunch of strangers came and tried to kill you and throw you off the land where you've always lived?''

"I can't say they haven't done that.'' He nodded very dryly. ''If they hadn't, I'd still be in Naples.''

''Well...'' You hesitated, realizing how difficult it was to try to have a conversation about history and politics with a man from the last century. ''Didn't you feel like killing the bastards who did it?''

"Kill the king? Oh yes, I wish, but I didn't do it. I didn't cut off his scalp or rip out his guts either.''

''Hum, maybe you have more to learn about resistance here.'' You mumbled, giving up for the moment. ''What happened in Naples? I thought you came here of your own free will.''

He was silent for a while, but gave in.

''So there are things about me that you don't know?''

''I didn't say I know everything about you.'' You protested. "I only know what Thom told me.''

''Thom? Um...'' He bore an expression that gave away the readiness of a question that was forming in his head, but that couldn't be said before he answered his own. ''I didn't do my duty as the king's servant, that's all. In Naples, disobedience and betrayal go hand in hand, and the king doesn't like either. But out of respect for my father, I was just... well, exiled."

''Exiled? What did you do, anyway?''

"Let's leave that for you to find out when you're home''. He cut off your question with asperity. ''Who is this Thom and why does he know so many things about me? Or rather, why did he tell you these things?''

You stopped and shook your head wistfully, tasting the very poison of personal questions. What would you answer? A manager of one of the Speedwagon Foundation buildings. Forty-something, still slim, muscular and insinuating, a very handsome man. The women at the university where he did his research clustered around him at co*cktail parties like bees around a honey pot, emitting little buzzes of excitement.

What else would you answer? You, being the particular young woman who just stands in your corner, staring at Thom wistfully over your drink. Who later gets drunk, tearful and incoherent.

"My boss.'' That's what you answered, your voice sounding distinctly incomplete. "He was looking for old records kept at the university, and you were there.''

''Your boss? Thom?'' He questioned with a knowing look. ''Do you call your boss by nicknames, like he's your friend?''

You gritted your teeth and didn't answer, hoping he would quickly forget about it.

"It's getting late.'' You said. ''Let's go back and eat that rabbit.''

Chapter 16: Right Back Where We Started From

Chapter Text

"You said that people won't use trains in the future, so is this the first time you're getting on one?'' That's what Johnny asked when you arrived at the station.

"No.'' You answered, kindly. ''I've traveled to a few places that offered a train ride as part of the tour, so no. But this is the first time I've seen a machine this old... or should I say new?"

''New, definitely. Unless the trains of your era are driverless and trackless.''

''Haha! We have something similar, at least close to that. But no, we're not that evolved yet.''

''Well, they sent a man to the moon in a way I've never imagined in my life. I think your era are quite evolved.''

''Really? And what would you imagine it would be like to take someone to the moon?''

''Hm... by train.'' He said foolishly. "They would build tracks to the moon and then we'd know space.''

You laughed, but not at him. It was simply interesting.

"Ah, it makes sense in theory, doesn't it?'' You encouraged him. "It would take decades, sure, but the theory makes sense.''

You talked to Johnny for a while about the day, the station and the place you were going. He had mentioned that this train leads to the docks, so you figured that this was your destination, even though you didn't know exactly what they were going to do there or why they were going there. You were ready to ask Johnny this for what seemed like the tenth time, and ready to receive a vague and useless answer, but Gyro wasn't willing to go through this whole process again and hurried Johnny off so that they could get the horses ready and buy the tickets straight away.

You sat on the station's balcony fence, dangerously close to the tracks, intently watching everything around you as you waited for Gyro and Johnny. Louise was standing with her forearms resting on the same fence, watching for the arrival of a train further away. The place wasn't as busy as you might have thought; only two other passengers seemed ready to take the train with you.

Looking at the machinery and the simple infrastructure of the place, you knew exactly what you were doing. You'd been doing it ever since you left Tuckertown and you were still doing it as you felt the rumble of the tracks come to life under your feet. You were putting yourself to the test.

You had been analyzing everything carefully, remembering and missing the comforts of your time. You thought of all the gadgets and inventions of modern daily life as you stood in front of their most primitive forms. Trains, planes, taxis, the toilets in stations, with their swirl of nasty blue-green disinfectant, making waste and germs disappear at the push of a button. Restaurants, all with their Health Department certificates hanging, guaranteeing at least a good chance of escaping food poisoning by eating there. You also remembered your own home, the ubiquitous buttons that provided water and light and heat and cooked food.

The question was - would you get used to this new life? Would you be able to adapt well without all the conveniences, big or small, that you had been exposed to all your life?

You had been asking yourself this question every time you smelled the horses, when you had to look for sources of water to fill the canteens, when you saw Johnny holding a dead rabbit in his hands, knowing that it would be dinner.

But time made no difference, you thought. In 1976, you could drive across the state and find people living without many of these conveniences - abroad, there were whole countries where people lived reasonably happily and completely ignorant of electricity, just like now.

No, conveniences and comforts were nothing more than that. Nothing essential, nothing you couldn't survive without.

Not that the lack of conveniences was your only problem now. The past was the most dangerous terrain anyone could explore. Even the progress of so-called civilization was no guarantee of safety. "Modern" life was, at the very least, more terrifying than its older versions. Everyday life could be safer, but only if the individual chose very well where to go - and you chose very well, even if the streets of Deanwood or Anacostia were as dangerous as any alley a hundred years ago.

You sighed and turned to see if Gyro and Johnny were ready. There was no point in speculating about impersonal things like disinfectants, buttons and rapists. The lack of running water was just a distraction. What mattered now was getting home, whatever the means.

"They're taking their time.'' Louise said, absorbed. "It really takes that long?''

''I don't know.'' You replied, not very interested in their performance in buying four train tickets.

''What do you think they're going to do?''

''What do you mean?''

''When we get to wherever we're going. I don't think we'll have a plan if they don't tell us anything... but what about them? They seem to know what they're doing, but they don't want to tell us. What do you think it is?''

''They said they were just going to visit an old friend. Could it be someone also interested in the corpse?'' You snorted, leaning languidly on the fence. ''That's the last thing we need, if we want to get the corpse back. From what Thom and those two said, the Steel Ball Run was a complete slaughter because of it. Dozens of mercenaries, archaeologists, runners and even the government looking for the corpse... If that dynamic comes back, we'll be in the worst place in this food chain.''

''sh*t, you're right... what now? What are we going to do? We can't stop them from involving more people and we can't just split up either, that would be stupid.''

''Now we just have to hope that this friend of theirs isn't a threat.''

''Hmm... what if we pressure one of them to tell? How about Gyro?''

''Oh, no, please.''

''Why?''

''It's a long story. But he's not the kind of guy we can just pressure or threaten, believe me.''

"Damn... but talking to Johnny is like talking to a wall, he never says anything useful.''

''Because he knows very well what can and can't be said. And I'm sure that Gyro is behind these determinations.''

Louise stared straight ahead and then turned her head like a pigeon, saying nothing. Curious, you also looked back and understood her erratic behavior; Gyro and Johnny were returning with four tickets and a larger piece of paper that looked like a letter. You didn't really care to ask about it as you were contemplating the idea of pressing Gyro and convincing him to give you some useful information about this "old friend".

You looked at Gyro. Even without considering his clothes, posture and tone of voice, he was terrifying. Simply unwavering. He wouldn't hesitate. He wouldn't be afraid. He wouldn't surrender. Talking to Gyro was like facing an oncoming train.

That last thought, however, was due to the conveniently punctual arrival of the train you were waiting for.

"What a delay.'' Louise said casually to Gyro, not sharing the same fear as you. ''What do you need to do to buy tickets? A tax declaration?''

''What?'' Gyro asked, confused by the last words.

''Nevermind. But why did it take so long?''

''Buying tickets doesn't take long.'' He said, in a calm tone. ''We were checking my mail, to see if I'd received anything while I was in Italy.''

"But you were in Italy.'' You said, forgetting your fear for a moment. "Why would someone send letters to you here, and not to your country?''

Then he cracked a golden smile, as if he was waiting for someone to ask that question.

''Well, you never know... some people don't know I've left the country. Some girls in love, who couldn't forget me, maybe.''

"Oh... and did you receive any letters?'' You asked, nodding at the letter in Johnny's hand.

''It's none of your business, bambina. I don't want to make you jealous.'' Hearing this, you frowned as Louise laughed. There was probably no letter for him. "This letter was sent to Johnny, let's read it on the train.''

The locomotive's steam rose with a loud, irritating and indescribably rustic sound. The travel trains of that time were, however, very similar to those of your era. Divisions in open cabins with two seats for four people and a low table in the center. The table, however, was only used to display ashtrays and rest books, as there was no staff offering coffee or tea. A mere convenience on a long trip. Imagining that there should be no tables or benches in the animal wagon, you wondered about the safety of the horses there - but were soon reassured to imagine that Gyro and Johnny would never leave their beloved horses in danger, so you wouldn't have to worry about Judas and Vegas.

The train roared its departure as you sat in the same seat as Louise, leaving her with the privilege of being closest to the window. Johnny had already opened the letter while Gyro peered over his friend's shoulder. You leaned forward a little, ignoring all your basic scruples to show that you wanted to read the letter too. Johnny's face expressed nothing but polite attention, tilting the letter so that you could see it.

It was a strange letter, as if it had taken days to write, with unfinished paragraphs and erratic pauses, written in a cursive and flowery handwriting, made even more illegible by the eccentrically formal spelling and the total lack of familiarity between sender and recipient. The paper was new and clean and the ink was vividly stuck. Legible or not, the date at the top of the sheet jumped out at you as if written in fire: October 2, 1892.

Realizing that you weren't satisfied with just a glimpse of the document, Johnny tilted the sheet towards you.

"Would you like to read it? You seem interested.''

You would have tried hard not to look hesitant, but the sound of Gyro turning over a tin of assorted cookies on the table didn't allow you to have the most basic of reasonings, clouded in authentic vanilla. He interrupted your silence and you just nibbled on what had been offered; your stomach was turning too much for you to feel any appetite.

After a quick apology for your slowness, Johnny took pity on your bad luck and situation for what seemed like the thirtieth time. Then he reclined, looked at her speculatively and asked:

"Are you all right?''

''Yes, yes... I'm fine. I'm just car sick... train sick.''

Johnny nodded, not quite believing it, but pleased that so far you seemed rational, even if tormented.

Being tormented is rational, he thought, catching another glimpse of your situation until you took the letter from his hand and began to read, without bothering with identification or the ceremony of reading it mentally first.

October 02, 1892

Jojo,

Well. After picking up the quill and writing the single word above, I sat in front of it, staring at it, until the candle had almost completely burned out, and I still don't know how to say it. It would be a regrettable waste of good beeswax to carry on like this and yet, if I blew out the candle and went back to bed, I would have overlooked the eminence of a catastrophe, as I did two years ago.

Last night, 'Ecclesiastes' disappeared.

''Ecclesiastes? That's the name of the project!'' Louise interrupted.

"It was the most discreet way we could find to mention it in letters.'' Johnny explained, looking at you, waiting for you to finish reading.

You, however, were paralyzed by an intense Déjà vu. You had read this letter before, you were sure of it, even though it was incomplete. However, you decided to keep it to yourself.

''Ecclesiastes. Neither the wise nor the fool will be remembered forever.'' You said.

"Both will be forgotten.'' Johnny added with a certain familiarity. "Yes, that's right. Is it familiar to you too, (Y/N)?''

''More than I'd like.''

One of the officials I had hired to check on the corpse in my absence - a man I trusted, who had taught me the lip-reading that allowed me to know about the president's plans - told me that the corpse wasn't there. I clearly didn't believe him, so I had to see for myself. And I can hardly describe my despair then and now, as I write this letter. I immediately went in search of a reliable investigator to take care of this matter for me.

At this point, the text was interrupted, as if the sender had been called away to resolve some domestic issue. It was resumed, with another date, on the next page.

October 3rd, 1892

I dream about Dio from time to time...

"What?'' Gyro exclaimed. "Screw Dio! Who did she hire?''

''I'd like to know too.'' You muttered, coming to the conclusion that a good part of the letter you'd read a few months ago won't stand the test of time.

"There may be a reason for that... Johnny said, the tips of his ears very red, but he didn't lift his eyes from the surface of the table.

I dream about Dio from time to time. These dreams often take apocalyptic forms, and I see him here, in my home, but every now and then I dream of you and your life in New Jersey, and then in Gyro among Italian royalty. If you are even alive (and I'm convinced that my heart would somehow know if you or Gyro were dead).

"In her words, Naples sounds more beautiful than it really is.'' Gyro commented bitterly. Her? So it's a woman. Yes, you know that.

Unfortunately, Dio is the only person I'm sure is alive. Alive as the devil. He, of course, is my prime suspect. But how could I hire someone I trust to spy on a man like him? That's when I realized that, at the end of the day, we're back to the same name I started with, 'Jojo'.

'It', for agonizing hours, was part of my flesh and my spirit. It broke my bones, tore my flesh and destroyed my reason. You, better than anyone, know what that's like. I'm constantly forced to deal with Dio because of my husband's work - if the obligation to deal with Diego haunts my dreams, the obligation to deal with 'it' haunts my days, Johnny.

You paused for a moment, swallowed and continued with a firm voice:

I've been writing letters all morning, arguing with myself. But now the reports have been made, they've already been recorded on this paper and they can't be neglected. I've thought of all the most renowned investigators in the country, but none of them would be as reliable and as committed to this as you are.

I feel ashamed, humiliated. I've failed in my only duty and I'm forced to turn to the last person I'd want to see my failure. Not just turn, but beg. Begging for guidance, for help, because I feel as powerless as I did two years ago.

However, I still feel blessed to have someone to turn to. I can't involve my husband in any more scandals, because he's still carrying the painful after-effects of the attack he suffered. Not knowing what happened to the damned terrorist is also something that haunts me every day, every night. I'm blessed but cursed, Jojo. I've lost count of how many things haunt me and how many of them I'm guilty of.

Now I'm almost at the end of the sheet and I think it's too much to start another one.

I ask you, Johnny Joestar, not only as the man who saved my life and that of my husband, but also as a great friend, to come and visit us, the address is on the back of the letter. Our doors are always open and I would ask you to leave my husband unaware of the reasons for your visit.

With love and gratitude, from your affectionate friend

Your voice faltered, as if your glottis had closed immediately.

Lucy Pendleton Steel

You remembered where you had read this letter. Along with the files that Lucy Steel, the renowned geomorphologist, had made about Devils Palm and other related research. It was an old letter, not very relevant, at least not to the extent that you could decipher things in it the first time you read it. You were more interested in reports, soil analysis and seismic activity. Any other documents that weren't purely technical, you dismissed.

But that one was special. You remembered reading it before and felt something you'd never felt before in your life. A déjà vu, a despair, a helplessness, a hopelessness.

"We seem to be thinking about a visit at the same time.'' Gyro said.

"We were going to see her anyway, but at least now we know we're welcome.'' Johnny added.

''Nyo-ho, it's going to be a surprise when she sees me, isn't it? The exquisite hero Gyro Zeppeli, in the flesh!'' He leaned closer to you to peek at the letter. ''She hasn't said anything else about me, (Y/N)?''

You held the paper for a moment, then placed it on the table very carefully. You remained still, your head lowered, resting on your hand, so that they couldn't see your face. The last glimpse you had was of Louise and her eyebrows raised almost to the roots of her hair, as puzzled as you were. However, they could hear her breathing with a slight intake of breath from time to time.

"Is everything all right, (Y/N)?'' Johnny asked.

''Oh, God...'' Louise mumbled, a little lost, not knowing what to do. Then she motioned for you to stand up, putting her hand on your back. ''Yes, she's just... she must be sick, isn't you, (Y/N)?''

You didn't answer and didn't resist when she pulled you up from the seat.

''Come on. If you want to throw up, let it be in the window.'' She said. "You're as cold as a corpse.''

"Please, Louise, if I hear that word one more time I'm going to die.''

Louise was elated by that letter and knew that your heart was also much more worried after reading it. At the same time, you were still extremely curious about the incident that Lucy Steel had begun to describe, about the disappearance of the corpse. Well, who stole it? You and Louise? But that was in 1976. A terrorist? Diego Brando? That would explain why you found the corpse outside the bunker a century later - but even so, how was it taken out of the bunker? -. What if it was some flaw in the fabric of space and time? Well, Louise wasn't as willing to waste neurons thinking about this last alternative as you are.

She took you to the last window of the carriage, where Gyro and Johnny couldn't hear them, but watched them incessantly.

"Could it be her?'' Louise asked, remembering all too well the stories you'd told her on the way to the Devil's Palm.

"Yes.''

''Are you... are you sure? Is this the right girl? She must be just a child now...''

''Lucy Pendleton Steel, yes. Pendleton was... it's her maiden name. That can't be a coincidence, Louise...''

''What else do we know about her?''

''Pretty much everything. She mentioned that her husband suffered an murder attempt... well, yes. Thom told me that promoter Stephen Steel was shot by a terrorist during the Steel Ball Run. Those after-effects are going to kill him in a few years' time. And Lucy... well, she's still got two wars to watch.''

''sh*t... damn, (Y/N), that sucks.'' She muttered, frustrated and not knowing how to react to this information. ''Should we tell them?''

''And complicate things further? No... I wouldn't want some crazy person from the future telling me when and how my friend is going to die.''

"Maybe you're right...''

It was cold, so early, but sweat was running down the side of your face and you wiped it away. It's the right girl, certainly the right girl...

You shook your head violently. Even before you were an archaeologist, you were also a historian - or had been. You, more than anyone, should have known how inaccurate history really was. But there you were, swallowed up by the swirling mist of the morning, having your ill-fated destiny crossed by the right girl. Lucy Steel, the geomorphologist who died in Japan, who had witnessed both world wars, who had archived everything said about the corpse and the Devil's Palm.

"sh*t... your mind must be a mess.'' Louise said, leaning back against the train window as you stared at your own feet. ''I don't know what happened or what's going to happen, and I'm already going crazy. But you... you know more than you should, don't you?''

''More than I wanted to. But the only thing I know is the essence of the facts.''

"Essence of the facts?''

The essence of the fact, you repeated in your mind. Kings are fools, cowards and drunkards, but they had one virtue: they believed. Whatever their goals, from the colonization of America to the liberation of Scotland, they believed, they tried and the outcome mattered little. That was all that would remain in them. The foolishness, incompetence, cowardice and vanity of men are things that don't stand the test of time, all that disappears and what remains are glories sought - earned or not.

All that remains, apart from the rigidity of bones, is the essence of facts. The rest is stripped away by time.

''Yes. I know all about Lucy Steel, but I don't know anything about her. I don't know what her voice sounds like, I don't know what her face must look like now, her favorite color or the way she dresses. What I do know are just the facts and the essence of them. The fact that she was widowed and died before the end of the war in Japan. The fact that she will become a geomorphologist, who will be mere research material for me in a century's time. I know a lot, but I also know very little, and that's scary.''

"You must be angry with historians like Thomas, aren't you?'' Louise ventured. ''Most of them get it all wrong. A hundred years from now Gyro and Johnny will be just two forgotten terrorists, while that guy... Diego, the governor, right? He will certainly be remembered, even in the universities.''

''That's what happens with all the politicians here. But no, I'm not angry with historians... not them. I used to be one. Our biggest crime is thinking we know what happened, when all we have is what time has chosen to leave. At university we are conditioned to believe that artifacts and documents tell stories.''

You heard a faint snore beneath your feet. The train whistled for more passengers.

"No...'' You looked out of the window, observing the outside. This was already the second station you'd stopped at, and there weren't a decent number of passengers boarding, that train was practically empty. ''It's the artists' fault. The writers, mainly. But I also give credit to singers and storytellers. They're the ones who take the past and recreate it to their liking. They're the ones who take a fool and return him as a hero, take a drunk and make him king.''

"Writers are liars, then?'' Louise asked, and you shrugged. Despite the morning chill, you take off your coat; the dampness molds your cotton shirt, revealing the elegant curve of your shoulders.

"Maybe.''

Liars? You wondered. Or sorcerers? Do they see the bones in the dust of the earth, see the essence of something that once existed and coat it with new flesh, so that the beast soils itself anew like a fabulous monster? No... that's something archaeologists like you do.

"Hm... but are they wrong?'' Louise continued. The tracks shook as the train started moving again. ''I mean... we're doing exactly the same as they are. Alleviating the facts, distorting some things for the sake of whoever or whatever. When Lucy asks about her husband, are we going to tell the truth?''

''And what makes you think she'd ask something?''

''Do you intend to hide our... situation from everyone? She's Lucy Steel, she... she knows about the corpse and the devil's palm as much as you do.''

''She doesn't know. She's just a kid now. Let's keep things as they are.''

''And how the hell are we going to get help, when only Gyro and Johnny know?''

"You still can't understand, Louise?'' You said. You were a little annoyed, but your voice didn't change. ''I don't know, you don't know. Nobody knows. But you can't tell me that we should go around shouting about who we are, there's no point. If we do that, we'll be killed or they'll treat us like official clairvoyants, don't you understand?''

"I don't know!'' Louise said, having to raise her voice when the train whistle echoed and the tracks rumbled beneath her feet.

Almost a whole minute passed with a resounding, deafening noise that held you immobile. Finally it passed and the thunderous roar faded into a lonely wail as the last station was swept out of sight.

"Ah... that's the bad thing, isn't it? We don't know.'' You said, turning your face to Gyro and Johnny, sitting in the same place as before. "But we have to act anyway.''

Then you turned to her again, her face haggard with fatigue, her eyes shining in the light.

"We're going home, Louise.'' You continued. "I promise.''

Chapter 17: One Last Ride

Chapter Text

You didn't throw up, although you wanted to. You had more important concerns, the most recent of which was a newly discovered disorientation on the train. Johnny had realized that the stations marked on the rail route map were completely different from the fleeting names on the signs that appeared from time to time in the window.

Engrossed, you didn't return the letter to Johnny. You were still reading and re-reading it, front and back. The second time you picked it up, you noticed the greenish sheen of a few - if not many - new, barely dented cash notes. Lucy is an especially cautious lady, you thought as you pulled out the notes and among them, you found a smaller note, written in the same ornate handwriting ''Take a good boat, with good food.''

"Boat?'' Johnny asked. "Why would she give us money for boats?''

You didn't answer, you imagined that the answer was in the same hands that held the money. Turning the letter over, you noted the sender's information. Staten Island.

"Staten Island?!'' Louise exclaimed in surprise, then raised her head and whimpered loudly. "Oh God, it's going to take us ages!''

"At least we have somewhere to go.'' You objected, looking at Johnny. "Right?''

He didn't answer straight away but stared at the money you were holding for a while. You didn't have much idea of what the exchange rate of the dollar would be or the current level of inflation. But you knew that that amount was a lot more than a boat trip would have cost even in your time. But money didn't seem to be what was bothering Johnny, who looked to his friend for answers.

Gyro couldn't have been more indifferent and, at the same time, more restless. From what you can gather from the letters, Johnny was the one who had maintained the longest contact with Lucy Steel and therefore he was the one who had to answer questions there. Gyro was preoccupied with other things that you couldn't read in his eyes, which repeatedly roamed the train's route.

''Staten Island... are you sure?'' Johnny asked, surprised.

"Yes, look.'' You held out the letter to him, giving him time to process the information. ''Is something wrong?''

''No... well, not exactly. I don't know.'' He sighed, surrendering to honesty. ''When she moved to Manhattan right after the race, she said she wouldn't be moving anytime soon. She seemed quite comfortable there... could something have happened?"

"It's probably just your mind, Johnny.'' Gyro reassured him. ''Her husband, as far as I can remember, is always drowning in work. Maybe that's why they moved. Maybe it's closer to something.''

"Close?'' You heard Louise mutter questioningly, but it wasn't loud enough to interrupt the conversation. In fact, living on an island was no closer than living in the city itself.

"She said she has to deal with Diego because of Stephen's job.'' Johnny retorted. ''Isn't that strange? Stephen is connected to the government?''

''And when hasn't he been? Lucy had to save his ass because of that.''

''I don't know, I don't like this... what does Diego want, anyway?''

"The same as us, that's for sure.'' Wiping his hair off his shoulder and placing his hat on the table, Gyro sighed and looked at you. ''But there are more worrying things for us to deal with right now.''

You saw Louise raise an eyebrow, much more defensive than you.

"What do you mean?'' She asked foolishly.

"Isn't it obvious?'' He answered immediately, throwing his strong shoulders back. ''Only Johnny was invited, my presence will already be a surprise. Now imagine the presence of the two of you... what do you intend to say when you see her?"'

A defeated silence took over, Louise didn't want to think about it, let alone you. But there weren't many options; it was either deal with the situation or split up and lose the few chances you have of returning home.

"I don't know.'' You said. "We don't have to say everything, that's a fact. I'm an archaeologist and Louise is a widow; we met Johnny because we were researching the corpse and he considers us trustworthy enough, and Gyro... well, Gyro is back."

They evaluated your story as if they believed it, and an involuntary positive nod of Johnny's head made you realize their approval.

"Well, yes, that'll do.'' Johnny said, his chin resting on one fist, thoughtful. ''But I still can't understand... The corpse is gone, yes. Lucy thinks Diego is behind it...''

"He certainly is.'' Gyro added.

''But the last people to have the complete corpse were (Y/N) and Louise.'' He retorted.

''How can that be relevant? You know it wasn't us. The corpse was missing for over eighty years and was found in 1976.'' You said. "We only found it... eighty years later.''

''And you lost it a week ago.'' Gyro scoffed. ''Back in 1892. You won't be able to lie for long, there's no sincerity in your eyes, (Y/N).''

"Lucy might like to know that.'' Johnny concluded.

''She'll think we stole the corpse and lost it.'' Louise quickly objected. ''It's not a good start, she won't trust us.''

''She will, if you're honest.''

''So we're just going to arrive in a boat with our arms out saying we've come from the future to save the day? Her letter seemed very concise, no sign that she's stupid or dumb. She's not going to trust us.''

Louise was right. Your situation was too complicated to simply share with the people and the heavens. However, Johnny was also right. How long could you keep up your lies?

"All right.'' You said, not knowing exactly to whom. "We won't hide anything from her... but we won't say anything without her asking.''

Johnny looked at you, thinking again for a few seconds.

"Hm, that seems fair.'' He said. ''It'll give you time to think it over. In the meantime, we need to find the fastest boat to Staten Island as soon as possible.''

With their differences temporarily resolved, everyone went back to their antisocial bubbles. Louise stopped to stare at the window, Johnny went out for a while and came back with a cup of tea. Gyro remained checking the train route for the tenth time and wandered restlessly around the place, and you continued to sit where you were.

Johnny was your only companion for a considerable time. Gyro concluded that the tracks on the original route must be under maintenance. No one argued or questioned when he said this. No one said anything, but a haze of suspicion hung over that empty wagon.

You should have taken it upon yourself to look at the signs outside to dismantle the sense of disorientation on the train. If you weren't sick before, you certainly are now.

Apart from the total unwillingness to start the tedious task that Gyro assigned you, you were held back by another factor. You didn't want to be there; you didn't want to see Lucy, no matter how intriguing the idea. You wanted to be working on other options that didn't involve more people or simply accepting your new life.

Seeing Lucy was an interesting plan in itself, although probably a worthless endeavor; seeing a lost teenage girl, as much in need of help as you were. But that wasn't the reason you didn't leave at the first train stop.

No, you thought, if you wanted to be honest with yourself: you wanted to devote yourself to Gyro and Johnny's plans so that you could place the magnificence of your brain at the feet of those two retrograde and generous men, as knights did with the heads of dragons. Even though you had no useful knowledge beyond death predictions, you longed for an excuse to remain in their company.

With this in mind, you looked at Johnny, sitting opposite you. He reminded you of a painting by Bronzino, you concluded. Both he and Gyro gave a strange impression of having been delineated in some way, drawn with such vigorous brushstrokes and with such delicate details that they stood out from the background, as if they had been sculpted. But Johnny had that vivid shade of blue and that air of absolute presence of mind that made Bronzino's models seem to follow him with their eyes, about to speak from their frames. You'd never seen a painting of Bronzino grimacing in front of a sip of black tea, but if there was one, I was sure it would be called Johnny Joestar.

"What was Lucy's role during the race?'' You broke the silence by asking. "In terms of an ally, not the promoter's wife.

"She was a crucial piece for the president, but nothing justifies what she went through because of that.''

"Can you tell me?''

"Not as well as she did.''

''If it was something really bad, she wouldn't want to tell. You should give me a general context of things before I meet her.''

''And why would I do that?''

"Why wouldn't you?''

"Because I feel there's no honesty in you.'' Johnny said and looked calmly out of the window. ''You're not a threat, of course. You're also very clever. But Gyro's right, I don't see any sincerity in your gaze.''

''What do you mean? You don't believe what happened to Louise and me?''

''No, on the contrary, I do. As absurd as it is, it's the most plausible explanation. But are you being honest with us?''

You could feel the trap that question represented. He was looking at you now, unflinching, frightening.

"Can you tell me why you don't see honesty in me?''

Answering one question with another, you knew you had failed the test, but you needed to defuse the situation and try to understand. You had already removed the weight of the lie from your chest, so why would he say something like that?

"I think it's fair to be suspicious of an employee of the Speedwagon Foundation.''

It took you a few seconds to understand that sentence. Yes, it was fair. Yes, it made sense. Knowing that in this situation, his greatest enemy was and always had been the government of his own country, it was rational for Johnny not to feel honesty coming from an agent of an oil company with direct links to the government.

"I see... yes, that makes sense. But I'm no longer an employee of the Speedwagon Foundation. Even if I had been at the right time, I would have been fired and maybe arrested. After all, I stole their corpse.''

''Yes, you did. But why? I don't think time has taken away the importance of that corpse, and something important like that wouldn't be easily accessible. You must be a very reliable agent, aren't you?''

Without much choice, you sighed and stared at the cup of black tea while Johnny stared at you.

''I was... head of research. Yes, my boss and I were the only ones in the building who had a key to the lab. My laboratory. I gave my life for this project, my health, my sanity, my... my decency, and my dignity. Yes, Johnny, I was a very reliable employee, but I wouldn't give a f*ck about this corpse. I wasn't going to retire from working on the same project all my life, that was just a step I needed to climb.''

You swallowed as you thought of Lucy when you said that. She'll die with the weight of an unfinished job on her chest.

"That still doesn't explain why you threw it all out of the window.'' He said dryly. "It also doesn't explain your friend's role in this story.''

''What can I say? I was tired and everyone complained about my behavior, and Thom... my boss, didn't take my efforts into account. He despised me, after all. And I was furious. Louise was furious too, for her own reasons, and so here we are. Nothing you don't know, nothing I haven't already said. Can you please help me better understand the situation I'm in now? Who was Lucy Steel during the race?''

Although unsatisfied, Johnny decided not to exhume any more of your life. He tried to take another sip of black tea, but came to the conclusion that the British are crazy, so he discreetly threw the rest of the drink out of the window.

"The corpse... well, I guess you already have an idea of the things this corpse can do, don't you?''

''Yeah, I think... when I was in the lab, it tried to merge with my arm, but I threw it away.''

''That's one of the things... sh*t, I shouldn't be saying that.'' He rubbed a hand over the back of my neck, leaving a soft rosiness in the area. ''That's what she told me, maybe even Gyro doesn't know about it. She went undercover as the president's wife, Scarlet Valentine, and eventually her cover was blown, but the president wasn't angry. No... he seemed to like her a lot, in a sick sort of way.''

You remained silent, waiting for him to say more and not knowing exactly what could be said after hearing something like that. How old was she Fourteen? Poor girl.

''I don't know any details, when she told me the shock of it all was still fresh in her mind. I don't know if he... well, if he managed to do what he wanted to her or if she managed to escape, but one of the parts of the corpse fused to her body; the head. It was then that the president decided to use her as a receptacle, but her body was weak, fragile. She became one with the whole corpse for hours. That is until... well, until Gyro and I put an end to the whole thing.''

''Possibly abused and used as a receptacle... hm...''

Fascinating, you thought, as you judged Lucy Steel's future. After all she had suffered, she had dedicated her life to research related to this; to the corpse. But you didn't want to think about it, perhaps it was your eyes clouded with the thought of Lucy's life that made Johnny feel a certain degree of dishonesty in your being. But omitting isn't the same as lying, right? There was no need to tell him that just yet.

For what seemed like the tenth time, Gyro walked past you, and then to the next seat, too restless to sit down. There was still half an hour until the last stop.

"Is he always like this?'' You asked Johnny when Gyro was already a safe distance away from your comments.

"No.'' Johnny said, looking at his friend's back as you did. ''There's something wrong. We should ask.''

Before offering out of sheer curiosity, you looked around for Louise. She was leaning on the window, reading a newspaper that a passenger had forgotten there.

"Do you want me to go there?'' You asked. "I can come back with a better drink, if you like.''

Johnny seemed interested in what was bothering Gyro, but the sight of continuing to sit and wait for a cup of coffee with sugar was much more appealing.

"All right.'' He said. ''Can you get some coffee when you're done?''

So you got up and took the same path as Gyro, who had already disappeared behind the door of the next wagon. You walked at a brisk pace, but not too fast.

You went through the first door to get out of the wagon. As in any scene from an Old West movie - in this case, Old East - you looked out for a few seconds at the landscape over the balcony that divided the two wagons. You were ready to lean on the balcony railing and enjoy the view, but you gave up when you saw the iron bars shaking slightly, even though the train was moving evenly.

The sky was clear and clean, with no clouds. The tracks crossed isolated prairies and bridges over red oaks.

Although sparsely populated with clouds, the sky lost its blue to the cold. That place, a hundred years from now, would probably be a boring city. You looked at the tracks just behind and remembered the road you and Louise had traveled together, at night, with tall trucks studded with colored lights, resembling giant Christmas trees, looming in the darkness and passing like thunder through your little used Cadillac. You also remembered the other cars, far away, changing shape like a mirage in the glow of the asphalt surface, seeming to float for an instant, square and tall.

As the train headed north, there were patches of a plant that the little booklet handed out at the station called "artemisia", then the mysterious contours of the hills, then reddish cliffs dotted with junipers, then a hill that went from light brown to blue and from blue to dream, and then more prairies that welcomed you with a strong wind, dew and withered white flowers, in the middle of which silly cows would sometimes appear, immobilized in a position - tail to the left, white eyelashes to the right - that went against all the traffic rules of the human species.

After about two minutes admiring the current landscape and remembering the others you'd seen when looking out of the window, you returned to your main mission of following Gyro and grabbing two cups of coffee, opening the door to the next wagon and finding, once again, nothing but empty seats and a small table with drinks and snacks for the passengers. Everything was untouched. The few passengers they had must have disembarked at the last station, you thought. But where is Gyro?

You didn't waste any time and grabbed two cups of coffee, you weren't at all motivated to follow Gyro all over the train - you didn't know how many seats it had - and you were also crying out for a drink and cookies. When you'd finished helping yourself, you picked up four small cookies, the size of seashells, which you guessed were madeleines.

With everything in hand, you straightened your posture, ready to go back, when you heard a sharp, irritating noise coming from another train car ahead. You jumped, startled, but hoped it was just Gyro. Seeing that there would be no problem in checking, you crossed the wagon you were in and opened the next door, lowering the handle with your elbow, keeping both hands busy with coffee and cookies.

To your surprise, there was no next wagon. Well, there was, but it wasn't accessible to you or Gyro, apparently, as he gave up wandering and stopped to rest on the railing of the carriage room. He didn't seem to expect to see you there, but he showed no sign of surprise.

The door ahead had no handle like the others, just a small window where you could see Valkyrie's long white bangs over her face, staring at Gyro through the glass and fogging it up with her euphoric breathing.

"What are you doing here?'' He asked, not too harshly.

"What are you doing here?'' You said the same, raising an eyebrow. ''Johnny was worried, you were acting strange.

''And he asked you to bring coffee and cookies? How sweet.''

"Bring it to him, yes.'' You corrected. "Are the horses there?''

''Not all of them, we split them into two wagons.'' He explained. ''Only Valkyrie and Slow Dancer are here. I don't trust your horses to leave them with my mare.''

''Um... why?'' Interested, you went through and closed the door behind you, leaning on the other side of the small balcony, but you didn't expect the ground to shake any more there, with those old, loose bolts under your feet. ''Can they try something with her?''

Noticing your difficulty in holding the two cups without spilling them on the shaking floor, Gyro picked up one of them, as well as the two cookies, and sipped the drink halfway through the cup. You did the same, to avoid burning your fingers with spilled coffee.

"I'm not sure if horses without balls are capable of trying anything, but I'd rather not risk it.

''But what about Johnny's horse? He doesn't look castrated.'' He definitely didn't look it, you could clearly see the animal's testicl*s hanging between its legs like overripe fruit on a tree.

"He's old and grumpy.'' Gyro sneered. ''He didn't even look at Valkyrie during the race, I don't think he will now.''

You laughed, looking at Valkyrie through the circular window on the door.

''You weren't looking for the horses, were you?''

''Huh?''

''When you were wandering around the train.'' You took another sip of coffee. ''Don't you think it's strange that we're the only passengers?''

''Yes, it's very strange. I was looking for an employee other than the driver, but I couldn't find anyone. At least it doesn't look like the train is being robbed.''

You recoiled at the thought.

''How do you know?''

''Only trains full of passengers are stolen. Jewelry is worth more than coal to steal.''

It made sense, you thought. But you honestly didn't care much if the train was full of armed robbers. If one of them said he knew how to get you home, you'd follow him without a second thought. But in the absence of a train robber with advanced knowledge of time travel, you had Gyro, Johnny and future geomorphologist Lucy Steel.

You stared incessantly at Valkyrie, intent on escaping Gyro's constant gaze. Why was he looking at you like that? You shrugged as you remembered last night at the creek. He had reason to look at you - if you were a man of the same age as him, you'd also be intrigued by a woman with no qualms about standing naked in front of you and talking to you the next day.

Not exactly naked, you thought, there was still modesty. You hoped that lying on that rock would have offered you as much protection as you imagined - in the same way that the dark waters provided protection for Gyro - and, honestly, it didn't matter much. It wasn't as if he had tried anything, and you held it in high regard that he hadn't.

"What was it like before you ended up here?'' He suddenly asked and you felt it was just a way of breaking the awkward silence. ''Cars instead of horses, beef stew instead of roast rabbit, paving instead of dirt. What else can you tell us?''

"About what? The future?''

''No. Tell me about yourself this time. There's no one here to listen.''

''About me? Haven't I given you enough explanations and proof?'' You said, defensively.

''And I believe you, you don't need to explain or prove anything. Just say it.''

"Ah...'' Taken aback, you shrugged. ''Why?''

"You know more than is safe to know about me, don't you?'' He said, in a harsh tone. ''It's only fair that you tell me something about yourself.''

''Right... What do you want to know?''

''What were your days like? You don't say anything about your work, but there's something strange in your eyes.''

You paused for a moment to think, ignoring his last comment. What were your days like? You gathered as many elements as you could remember from the moment you got up to the entrance of the Speedwagon Foundation building. More cars, more buildings, beggars, traffic lights, concrete benches, leafless trees, men going to work and women buying food. Historic buildings too, of course.

"Gray.'' It was the perfect word, capable of encompassing your two and a half decades of life in that place. "The time I'm spending with you and Johnny is the most exciting of my entire life. Even this train seems surreal to someone who used to live like me.''

"How sad.'' He said, not very touched. "Isn't there one good thing to say?''

''Good thing? Ah, the people.'' You said, firmly. ''Men rape a little less and women can vote, but that's it.''

"Women can vote? That sounds dangerous.''

"More dangerous than rape?'' You asked, with a sarcastic tone.

He didn't answer - and that's good, you thought - but kept a slightly grim expression on his face. Normally, you would ignore this subtle change in his gaze, but you couldn't help noticing that it was the same expression he had the night Louise told you what Creed had done. The same night he told you that you were weak and couldn't do anything about it. Unconsciously, you remembered how his voice and those words sounded impersonal to you; as if he wasn't talking to the person in front of him.

You swallowed dryly when he stopped looking at you and turned his attention to Valkyrie, but you wouldn't let it go.

"I don't know that much about you.''

He didn't say anything, just let you continue.

''I mean, I just know the facts. I know you're from Naples, I know your father's name is Gregorio, I know...''

"Right.'' He interrupted you. "I get it, you don't have to recite my entire biography out loud.''

''I'm just saying.'' You laughed, sipping more coffee as he ventured to eat his cookies. ''I only know the facts of your life, but I don't know anything about you. Nothing I haven't already seen, at least.''

''What do you mean?''

''I mean... well, when my boss told me about you, I imagined an Italian aristocrat, fat, white as paper, with chubby, red cheeks and a big nose.''

He laughed vibrantly, finding it amusing.

''Well, your nose is kind of big, yes, I was right about that. But I would never have guessed that your hair is longer than Louise's and that your teeth are golden.'' You pointed out, saying everything that was within your reach at the time. "Let alone that you wear green lipstick and...''

You stopped as you lowered your eyes, not thinking it necessary to mention his belt buckle, two hands pointing where they should, you thought.

''I want to know something from your point of view. Tell me, what is Naples like in 1892?"

Like you, he needed some time to think. You imagined that he was also putting together all the elements he remembered seeing from the moment he got up to go to work.

"Gray.'' You heard the answer and jumped, eyebrows raised. And he continued, mocking. "Well, not as gray as your life, I'm sure. But gray enough.''

You weren't sure what to say, but decided to just stare at the landscape just behind him. Your destination loomed ahead, a considerably large and busy train station, awaiting your arrival.

The once empty and silent train quickly filled up like an anthill. Luckily, the horse wagon was meticulously designed for a distant part of the train station, so picking up the animals was a much simpler and quicker task than you might have imagined, with only a few completely avoidable unforeseen circ*mstances.

The horses were unsaddled inside the wagon, and it wouldn't have been feasible for you to carry them when you could simply keep them on the horses and make the walk to the port a little more convenient.

You didn't know what your saddle was, so you simply grabbed one that didn't seem to belong to Gyro or Johnny, jumping down from the wagon to avoid the steep ramp. Judas was tied to a small pole a few meters away, just waiting for you. You were ready to reach the horse when two hands stopped you, grabbing the saddle you were holding.

"I can take it.'' You said, your mind still on the last conversation and not in the mood for... well, for Gyro. That was suspicious, but he just smiled. If Gyro were a dog, he'd be a golden retriever. If he were a sport, he would be dodgeball, incessant, energetic, unavoidable. You didn't feel like playing.

"I'll take it.'' He said. "You take the reins.''

"I can take the saddle andthe reins.''

Gyro was all smiles and amused looks.

''Dolcezza, just take the reins, let me be a gentleman.''

''What did you call me?'' You frowned.

''Oh, I didn't mean to, but it was nice. Dolcezza.'' He said again, still smiling.

''What the hell does that mean?''

''Something like sweetness...''

''Sweetness?''

''Do you prefer honey? No, it reminds me of my mother. How about zuccherina? No. Bambola? Tesoro?'' He stopped and started to think of more options.

"I don't even know where to start.'' You sighed.

''Start with the reins.'' He played with your hair, then motioned to take the saddle from your hand.

''Gyro, I can carry a damn saddle.''

''Tesoro, what's wrong? I won't let you carry heavy things around.''

''You don't have to. The things are mine.''

He laughed, he seemed to think you were challenging him.

''What kind of man would I be if I let such a beautiful woman carry something heavy like that?''

"The kind who knows I have two perfectly functioning arms.'' You grumbled, pushing the saddle away from him. ''The kind who respects this woman, her strength and... her arms.''

He laughed again, he couldn't take any of this seriously.

''I have a lot of respect for your arms. They're very beautiful, you know.''

He then slid his fingers up your forearm, tickling the inside of your elbow. You didn't let go of the saddle, but it distracted you and he managed to take the saddle from your hand.

"Hey! Give it back, Gyro!''

You tried to take it back, and he took a step back. His long legs made one step seem to be a meter long.

''(Y/N), I know you can carry this saddle. But I can't let you. How can I leave the heavy lifting to a beautiful woman and be empty-handed? It's not personal, I'd do the same for any woman like you.''

''That's even worse.''

''Why?'' He was about to go and saddle up Judas, but what you said left him a little confused. For the first time, he didn't laugh or scoff at something you said. "Why is it worse? Aren't the men of your time respectful of women?"

"That's not respect, it's disdain!''

''That's respect.'' A blonde lock of hair fell over his face, and Gyro tried to blow it away. ''Being a gentleman is being respectful, it's not my fault if the men of your century don't think so. If I can make a woman's life easier because I have superior strength from the waist up, I'll do it. At every opportunity.''

You took a deep breath.

"Superior.''

''Yes. Superior. Do you want to fight me?''

"I don't need your superior strength from the waist up to carry a saddle.''

You put your hand on the saddle, trying to take it from him.

"Are you making a point of not letting me be respectful?'' Gyro asked, confused but amused.

''Shut up and let me take the damn saddle.''

''You're all red, you know that?''

''Well.'' You snorted. ''I'm upset.''

''What do you need? A kiss to calm down?''

''Give me the f*cking saddle.''

''Anger, flushed face... Have you ever read a novel? That's how it starts.''

That was going too far, and it was very annoying. You used most of your lower strength from the waist up to push the saddle against his chest. He pushed back carefully, but didn't let go.

"You're going to fight me every time I try to do something nice for you?''

You looked him in the eye. The way Gyro looked back at you made you feel totally exposed, as if your every thought was expressed in captions on your face. You let go of the saddle and walked away from him, to avoid any possibility of hitting him.

"Finally.'' He joked. "My arms are killing me.''

Keansburg had an important maritime trade center and the docks seemed to be the heart of the city. A long, solid pier ran for almost eighty meters along the shore of the harbor; smaller piers protruded from the wharf and, along these, were anchored bergantins and three-masted brigs, light rowboats and small galleys - an array filled with the ships that supplied the north with wine and gin.

Although you always stayed close to your group, even when one of themwent to buy tickets, you felt dizzy, light-headed. The smell of grapes spilling out of barrels was strong and sweet, and it was a blessed relief to lean against one of the barrels until Gyro returned. You were between Johnny and Louise, also sitting down to rest, as you listened to the story of when the two men almost died fighting in the Mississippi River.

"But how you didn't drown?'' Louise asked sympathetically.

"I didn't say I didn't drown.'' He replied good-humoredly, ''I had more water in my lungs than blood in the water. But I don't know... part of me believes that I only survived because of the corpse. And Hot Pants too, of course.''

The story was interrupted by a laugh from you; you hadn't expected to hear that last sentence.

''Ah, ha! Excuse me, but Hot Pants?'' You laughed. "Who is that and why does he have that name?''

Johnny couldn't deny that there was something funny about it, and smiled slightly.

''An old friend. It was a woman who pretended to be a man during the race, and she was also a stand user, she was the one who saved us.''

"Wait, is this the same day that Gyro said he lost a leg and an arm?'' Louise asked.

''Yes, that same day. I don't know how to explain it exactly, but Hot Pants had a flesh spray, and the substance in the spray fused to her skin. That's how she cured us, with new skin. Like a weld.''

"Had?'' You asked. "What happened to her? Did she want the corpse too?''

''Yes, she had her reasons. But... I don't know. I don't know what happened to her, she just disappeared. The last person we know who was with her was Dio, I think the worst has happened.''

''So he killed her too?''

''I don't know, but I'm pretty sure he did. If she were alive, I'd have some news of her.''

''Hm, but you don't know. She could still be alive.''

''Yes, it's a possibility. But I avoid thinking about it.''

You remained quiet, watching the hustle and bustle of shipping and commerce. The seagulls dived and screamed between the masts, their voices as hoarse as the cries of the sailors.

That's when Gyro returned, stopping and blocking out the sun above the three of you, making you stand up quickly and getting your tickets.

You imagined that there was a specific station where you could buy the tickets, but you were surprised to see that Gyro returned accompanied by a man called Dudley, the captain of the boat you were going on, asking their names and then writing their initials in red ink on the horses. It was one of his boats, the Lady Laura, which would take you to Staten Island. Gyro will tell you that all of Dudley's boats were named after his mistresses, the wooden figures on the prow of the boats carved in the likeness of the ladies in question. You narrowed your eyes against the wind to get a better look at the bow of the boat, trying to decide if Gyro was messing with you. If he wasn't, you concluded that Dudley preferred his women gifted.

"Don't stay away from your horses.'' Dudley said, for the fourth time in ten minutes. He sounded really rushed, demanding that the boat's sailors lower the ramp as quickly as possible.

Johnny took a deep breath, taking a short moment to prepare himself in front of the ramp. Noticing his friend's clear hesitation, Gyro put a heavy hand on Johnny's shoulder, shaking him like a palm tree in a gale.

"What's up, Johnny?'' Gyro said, pulling Valkyrie along behind him, smiling. "Are you afraid of boats?''

Then Johnny took another deep breath.

''No, I'm not. I just don't like it.''

''So you're afraid?''

''No!''

''Nyo-ho-ho! Don't worry, Johnny, this won't last more than two or three hours. Going from Italy to here was a thousand times worse.''

So they made their way to the boat, you and Louise following close behind, pulling their respective horses. Whatever Johnny's problem with boats was, he seemed to share it with Judas, who shook his head in clear annoyance as you pulled him along and struggled up the ramp.

It was a big boat - not as big as a ship, obviously - , but big enough to have room for more than four horses, and that was another thing that seemed to bother Judas. You came to the conclusion that your horse was especially sensitive to other living beings and any changes in the environment, and you had to get used to that, as there was no chance of fighting an animal of that size.

There was no announcement when the boat left the harbor, the captain seemed especially quiet, unlike the sailors. The sound was calm and monotonous, the surface slightly agitated by small waves caused by the wind. That's great, you thought, looking at Johnny.

Johnny's eyes were open, at least, and he kept them fixed on the beach with a kind of desperate intensity, as if the sight of dry land, even if out of reach, could offer him some comfort. Beads of sweat glistened above his upper lip and his face was the same pearly color as the sky at morning, but he hadn't vomited yet.

You weren't scared, but you felt almost as sick as Johnny. None of the four of you had eaten anything significant for breakfast, but you had the feeling that you had swallowed a large quantity of porridge accompanied by nails.

"It'll be quick.'' The sailor responsible for guiding and preventing you from falling into the sea, leaned back against the barrels of water and gin, nodding towards the anchorage ahead.

It was breezy in the water, almost cold, but the air was full of humidity and sweat was dripping off your face from the exertion. Gyro remained seated at the bow, silent in his own thoughts. Louise too, almost hidden, leaving the golden light of day as she sat in the dark brown atmosphere of the cold, wet wood of the barrels. Vegas seemed calm, tied up right next to Judas; but it was Louise who worried you. Her face was dull, filled with an expression that made it clear that she would rather not have anything to do with what was going on and the sooner it was over, the better.

Louise was holding something that her hands were hiding. You approached, unsure if she wanted to talk, but luckily she greeted you with a relaxed look, although her pupils were too dilated.

"How are you?'' You nudged her gently with your feet and she made room for you to sit down next to her.

"Oh, I'm fine, I guess.''

You settled down next to her, still looking at the sailors ahead.

''Are you sure?''

''No... maybe.''

''And what are you looking at?''

She didn't need to answer. You could see a linen-covered and embroidered wallet in her hands, with a drawing of some exotic bird that certainly didn't belong in the 19th century. Distracted, Louise let some small papers slip out of the wallet, which soon glistened, revealing them to be a collection of tiny but clear photos.

You let out a small inarticulate sound and your fingers loosened. You picked up the small pile of photos, looking at them.

"You kept your wallet...'' You muttered.

"There are more photos than money.'' She joked.

''Why do you keep so many photos?

''I don't know... to calm me down, maybe. They make me happy.

It made sense, you thought as you looked at a photo. You always forgot that Louise had siblings. It was Louise, about ten years old, chubby in her snowsuit, her cheeks as round and red as stretchers, a few strands of feather-light hair sticking out from under her hood.

Then Louise and her younger brother. Her straight, shiny hair was in the shape of a bell, she was sitting down, one ankle resting on the opposite knee, while she smiled at the photographer, neat and calm, wearing a white apron and her brother in a small suit.

In the next photo, she looked a little younger, proudly holding her first lunchbox, waiting to catch the bus to kindergarten. As you went through the photos, you gave them back to her, who put them in her wallet.

"I wouldn't let my parents come with me, I wanted to go on my own.'' She mentioned before taking the photo.

"You're not afraid of anything at all.'' You said, smiling. Those photos brought comfort even to you, who had never been present at this stage of her life. ''Oh, look at that!''

You made her smile at the photo of her, ten years old again, sitting on a kitchen floor with her arms around Baloo, the huge Newfoundland dog. This one was in color; her bright red hair against the dog's shiny black fur.

Her hands were shaking so much that she could no longer hold the photos you returned; you had to keep the last ones - grown-up Louise, grinning at a row of fish she had caught on a line; leaning out of a window, contemplative and mysterious; her face flushed and unkempt, leaning on the handle of an axe she had used to chop wood.

The photos showed her face in every state of mind that the light could capture, always that same face, straight and long nose, wide mouth, with those high, wide and smooth Viking cheekbones, and the torn eyes. But now, that face had a completely different, somber expression, the mouth opening and closing without making a sound, and the tears rolling silently down her cheeks.

She spread her hands across the tiny photographs, her trembling fingers just grazing the glossy surfaces, then turned and leaned towards him, slowly, with the improbable grace of a tall falling tree. She buried her face in your shoulder and collapsed completely.

You hugged her, your arms tight around her broad shoulders, shaking yourself. You wanted to cry too, but you wouldn't let yourself, so you pressed your face against the top of her head, murmuring little words of comfort to her as if she were still that child in the photos.

''(Y/N)...''

''Yes?''

''What's his name?''

You froze for a moment, as if you needed a long time to digest each word.

''What?''

''I keep forgetting... but I don't want to forget. I can't forget. What was that man's name?''

"Creed.'' You mumbled, as if your own throat burned when you said that name. ''Joshua Creed.''

''That monster...''

''No, Louise. He's not a monster.'' You said more firmly. ''He's a man, that's all. A man with arms, legs, veins full of blood and a neck to be cut off.''

He's just a man, that's all, you repeated softly to her. If you let Creed take on supernatural proportions in her mind, she would be ruined. You searched for an image that would renew your confidence and clung to a memory of Creed knocked out on the floor.

sh*t, you thought. Thinking of Creed as a monster made it impossible; thinking of him as a man was even worse. But you had to go all the way.

Your palms were sweating; you rubbed them against your clothes without even trying to disguise it.

"He's going to die.'' You promised her. "It doesn't matter how, but it will be soon.''

She didn't answer, just rested her chin on your shoulder more heavily.

Chapter 18: Life Has Just Begun

Chapter Text

"What a chubby, mean face!'' You leaned over to peer, fascinated, at the pink-coated wax figure standing menacingly on one side of the wax museum hall. The figure was shorter than you, with hostilely curled blond hair framing a low forehead and drooping, pink-painted cheeks.

"Well, he was a short, chubby guy.'' Thom agreed, amused. "But quite a president, at least compared to his predecessor on the other side.''

He waved his hand, indicating the taller figure of Grover Cleveland on the other side of the hall, his noble gaze lost in the distance, in a blue velvet coat with a white ribbon, proudly ignoring Franklin D. Roosevelt.

"But that nice man in pink was called Funny Valentine.'' Thomas turned to the wax figure, more colorful than the rest, impassive in his knee-high pink boots and coat covered in gold buttons and embroidery. ''Funny, that's absolutely right. I'm glad he caught your eye.''

''Why? Is he the official sponsor of the Steel Ball Run, right?'' You played your hunch, although you were sure of it. ''Apart from the Speedwagon Foundation, of course.''

''Hm, yes, exactly.’’

''Is that why he was such a great president?'' You scoffed. ''He doesn't seem to have anything special from the other presidents, just a great sense of fashion.''

''Oh, yes, he did... He was a soldier, just like his father. I have to say he was the most patriotic of the presidents, as well as the craziest. He took the fight against terrorism seriously enough to die fighting them.'' Thomas said, with a strange air of admiration, but with a sense of reality. ''His government was also a reign of terror for the native population, I must say, of course. He made deals with big corporations, invaded native lands, persecuted rebels and survivors. Women and children were left to starve and men were shot wherever they were, without any concern for finding out whether they were actually rebels or not. An old friend of mine said that 'he madea cemetery and called it peace'. After the Bear River massacre, I believe that was the most violent period for the natives.''

Ah, yes, the massacre of the natives, present since the discovery of America. You'd heard many times that it was the longest Holocaust in history, and you weren't surprised to hear what Thom had said.

"The Speedwagon Foundation was one of the companies that made these deals, wasn't it?''

"The main company. But his death was a problem and they couldn't buy as much land as they wanted.''

''Hm, those terrorists did a big favor.'' You observed, pausing to think. ''Why were they terrorists? What was this movement? Were they natives too?''

You looked at him curiously when he fell silent and nodded towards the laminated glass display, through which the items and weapons from the Wounded Knee massacre camp were perfectly visible and a group of hippies were taking photos, posing.

"No.'' He answered, holding out his hand to you. ''No, they weren't. That's another story. Do you want to go outside?''

It was cold outside, with gusts of wind blowing two military flags fluttering atop flagpoles on either side of the grounds.

"A wax museum making a historical denouncement.'' You commented as you followed him. ''Now I know why you wanted to take me here.''

''Ha, I knew you'd like it.''

Thomas noticed that you were shivering and pulled the hand on your arm close to his body, bringing you closer. He thought he was going to explode with the sudden wave of happiness that touching you gave him, but he tried to disguise it by taking refuge in a historical monologue.

"A local community organized the whole thing. But I don't think it will last long.'' He explained. ''About those terrorists you mentioned... I thought we'd better talk about it alone; I don't want to bother any more ears with my academic lectures. The terrorists in question were participants in the Steel Ball Run. In general, their real motivation is a mystery, but the most popular guesses revolve around wealth and social justice... And, well, Ecclesiastes. But in any case, Funny Valentine disappeared in the last stage of the race, as did many of these terrorist runners.''

''Disappeared? Just that?''

''Hm, no. His death is full of legends and misunderstandings. They say his body was found with around seven gunshots, several bruises and, above all, bald.''

''Bald?''

''I know what you're thinking, it's what all my colleagues are thinking. But no, he wasn't scalped. They say he was killed by an Indian tribe because of that, but no.''

''And how do you know he wasn't?''

''Because those terrorists were exclusively runners. The only Indian runner was known as Sandman, and he died months before, drowned in the Mississippi River.''

''That could be just one more reason why he was killed by native rebels. Maybe they wanted revenge.''

''No, there's no reason to seek revenge. I haven't told you one detail: Sandman competed without a horse, he conquered the first places in the rankings on his own two feet. Nobody killed him but himself; it's just a bit ironic that he drowned in the river, and suspicious too.''

You shook your head, laughing.

"You're kidding, right?'' You slapped him weakly on the shoulder. ''It's impossible to know when you're serious or joking with me!''

He laughed too, the expression lines framing his porcelain-white smile.

''I swear I'm serious! I can show you my Steel Ball Run collection, I have all the results from all the stages of the race, and Sandman is there, without a horse, in first place!''

"God, were the other competitors running on ponies?''

''Haha! I wish, it would be much more interesting, honestly.'' He joked, good-naturedly. ''But that's just a small historical error that I accept as fact, they didn't write anything where the breed and name of his horse should have been, so I assume he took part on foot.''

''And you're a historian! You should study these mistakes.'' You said, looking sarcastic.

"That's why I know it's a mistake.'' He smiled, shrugging his shoulders.

"What's a mistake?'' Louise poked your shoulder, making you open your eyes, confused. ''(Y/N), did you sleep?''

''Ah? What?''

And there you were, rattling over barrels of gin, back on the boat.

''You slept.''

"No...'' You answered automatically. "No, I'm awake. I'm fine.''

''Do you always talk in your sleep?''

''No.'' You sniffled, rubbing your eyes. ''That's why I wasn't asleep.''

''So you were talking to yourself? What's a mistake, then?''

"I don't know.''

The boat trip to Staten Island was pleasant, despite everything. It was one of those cloudy, quiet but bright days. With a hearty breakfast in your stomach, thanks to Gyro, who had listened to Lucy's advice on the choice of boat. One of your lunches was packed in a basket with Louise, her long hair blowing in the wind, trying to get rid of the guy who insisted on giving her more and more bottles of gin and peanuts. You were beginning to think that everything was going to plan.

"We're getting close.'' Johnny said, exultant and almost green at the sight of the beachahead. "So close!''

"You can do it, Johnny.'' You said, now sipping your coffee, aware that the smell didn't help his nausea at all. ''Don't die off dry land.''

"And don't die on dry land either.'' Gyro added, then looked at you. ''Do you know how to help him?''

''Why should I know?'' You asked, raising an eyebrow.

''Aren't you the smartass here?''

''I'm an archaeologist, not a pharmacist.''

''Gyro, you're a goddamn doctor!'' Johnny cursed, as babbling as the waves that hit the ship's hull and resounded directly in his stomach.

"I'm sorry, I was never taught how to treat sea-sick girls!'' Gyro spat, offended. ''Just broken bones and failing organs. And your stomach, Johnny, seems to be working better than it should.''

The mention of organs and bones was the last straw for Johnny, who leaned on the railing of the boat and threw up everything he hadn't eaten.

Gyro, despite having exceptional medical experience, didn't seem to be very efficient or patient when faced with cases he considered entertaining or merely ridiculous, such as Johnny's nausea on the open sea. But you didn't have the same cold blood to grimace and walk away - after all, if you left Johnny alone vomiting on the balustrade he'd probably fall into thesea and you'd lose a considerably important ally and definitely more useful than Gyro.

"Hey, hey, Johnny, take it easy!'' You said, not expecting it to have any effect, but holding him by the shoulders and taking off his cap to prevent it from falling off.

He tried to reply, but it wouldn't have made any difference, all you heard were moans of agony interrupted by more waves of vomit. A mixture of black tea, coffee and cookies for the fish.

"Oh, sh*t, it'll be okay, Johnny.'' You kept repeating it, imagining that it wasn't much different from looking after a drunk friend, so you held his sweat-soaked blond hair back.

Johnny vomited a torrent of browns and greens that he couldn't remember ever ingesting, gasping in his own effort to breathe until, eventually, there was nothing left but guts to expel.

"Water...'' He said, hoarsely.

"No.'' You replied coldly. ''Not now, you'll throw up again.''

''Water!''

"Jesus, Johnny, wait two minutes!''

And, much more easily persuaded than Gyro would ever be, Johnny waited, but with his appropriate dose of drama, sitting down while slowly dragging his back on the balustrade, staring into nothingness, absorbed, like a dead fish. You refrained from commenting on this, fearing that talking about fish would also be a trigger for him.

You leaned on the balustrade next to him, still holding his cap as you watched the sailors stop staring at the two of you and return to their lunches. Seeing this reminded you that, however unwelcome your presence, you were still entitled to your own lunch; and Louise was willing to take advantage of this with her basket protected by a checkered cloth, heading for the little sailor who looked more like a barman.

When you saw that Johnny seemed stable - or at least alive - you gave in and gave him the canteen of water, which he drank like a poor starving hamster.

"Why do short guys always look for tall women?'' After a while of silence, you suddenly asked. Your voice echoed Johnny's thoughts with a strange precision, and not for the first time.

He sniffed, drank some more water and leaned his back again.

"The moth and flame syndrome?'' He suggested, frowning at the tiny sailor's obvious fascination with Louise. You and he werenear the bow, watching the little man finish filling Louise's lunch basket, while she loaded up on gin and dark beer to accompany her meal.

The young sailor, who reached the height of Louise's armpits, was jumping up and down, offering pickled eggs and slices of smoked tongue, his eyes rolling in adoration at the red-haired goddess in front of him. From her laughter, Louise seemed to find the guy "funny".

"My mother always told me never to get involved with short guys, and I say the same to Louise.'' You commented, observing the scene.

"Really?'' Johnny said dryly. ''For some reason, I don't see you as an advisory friend.''

You laughed, indifferent to his momentary bitterness.

''Well, I'm not, not really. But when you notice an important principle like this, it seems a duty to pass it on."

''Do you have a problem with short men?''

''They tend to be stingy if they don't get what they want.'' You said. ''Like those little dogs that bark non-stop. They're cute and cuddly, but if you go against them, you'll probably get a nasty bite on the ankle.''

Johnny laughed, remembering the many short men he had met and realizing how accurate this comparison was.

''This comparison is the result of personal experience, I suppose?''

"Oh, yes.'' You laughed, shaking your head and looking at him. ''I've never met a finance manager taller than me. Perfidious little guys, practically all of them. But tall men, well...'' You hesitated for a moment, realizing that you were talking to a man. "Well, most of them are sweet and kind, I think.''

''Kind, huh?'' Said Johnny, with a cynical look at Gyro, who was watching the little sailor chop up a pickled eel for Louise. Both Gyro's and Louise's faces expressed cautious disgust, but she leaned forward, wrinkling her nose as she accepted the piece offered on a fork.

"With women, I guess.'' You clarified, also understanding that Gyro wasn't a model of gentleness and kindness, but he was, in fact, tall. ''Maybe it's because they don't need to prove much; when it's obvious that they can do whatever they want, whether you want them to or not, they don't need to prove it.''

"Unlike a short guy.'' Johnny encouraged.

''Unlike a short guy, who knows he can't do anything unless you let him or he has a knife in his hand. Knowing this drives him crazy, so he's always trying something just to show that he can do it.''

''Mmmhumm...'' Johnny emitted a sound of agreement from deep in his throat, still feeling a little nauseous, but intending to show both admiration for your insight and a general suspicion of what the sailor was trying to prove to Louise as he cut into that eel.

"Thank you.'' You heard Gyro say to the sailor, who pushed the last packet of peanuts over the counter to him. "Ready?'' He asked Louise, who nodded.

The sea was calm and the wind was slow, but it was pleasant for you, with the sun gradually taking its strength, warming the cold, wet wood under your feet. Heavy with lunch, Gyro and Louise felt drowsy and, shortly afterward, each slept on one side of the bow, their heads resting on hard barrels. You and Johnny continued to sit quietly side by side, watching your two friends.

This brief conversation and the air of companionship resulted in a significant improvement in Johnny's seasickness, and he was even willing to admit that the view was beautiful from there, although he didn't want to look directly at the sea.

"What about the tall and short women?'' Johnny asked, resuming the previous conversation as he saw you sitting there, blinking but still awake. He looked over his shoulder, observing the length of your legs stretched out beside him. ''The same? Short girls are more annoying?''

You shook your head thoughtfully, your hair starting to come loose from its makeshift clip.

''No, definitely not. Women don't have to prove anything, short or tall, skinny or chubby. At least, it has nothing to do with the body. It's more a question of seeing men as a threat, as enemies or just as men and, in general, deciding which is more detestable.''

"Ah, you're talking about women like you, right? Modern ones.''

"No, not at all.'' You said. ''I know that you see the same types of behavior from men and women in 1892 that I see in 1976. Some differences, of course, in the way each behaves, but not so much in how they behave towards each other."

You looked at the clear water in the distance, shielding your eyes with your hand. You were on the lookout for sharks and other larger fish, having little idea of Raritan Bay's aquatic biodiversity. But Johnny thought that gaze scrutinized a little beyond the waves of the sea on the opposite shore.

"You like them, don't you?'' Johnny asked without thinking, regretting it at the same time. "The tall men.''

You smiled slightly, without looking at him.

''I liked one.'' You said softly.

''So you will... you intend to go back to him, don't you?'' He corrected his posture momentarily, watching you.

You took a deep breath before answering. The wind turned Johnny's cheeks pink as it molded the fabric of your white blouse against your body, highlighting details of your torso. He then thought, also remembering your friend. Louise was too young to be a widow, you were too beautiful to be alone.

"No. I don't want to go back for him. I want to go back, but because I promised Louise we would. I promised myself that I wouldn't let anything happen to her again. It's my fault that we're here, after all, and everything that's happened since is my fault too.'' You said, your voice was a little shaky. ''But thinking about it... about facing him after everything I've done, after what happened... and going back to the Devil's Palm...'' A tremor ran through your body, making you close your eyes. "It's indescribable, you know.'' You continued; your eyes still closed as if you could see behind your eyelids the claw-shaped rocks surrounding that crater. "It was horrible, but horrible in a different way from other horrible things.'' Then you opened your eyes, giving Johnny a lopsided smile.

"Oh really? Well, you’re right. I've been to that place too.'' Johnny shuddered, involuntarily.

That night, two years ago, when Mountain Tim and the Boom Boom family were there. And also when Sugar Mountain led him and Gyro into a death trap. They weren't memories he liked to bring back to mind; but they came back to him in nightmares time and time again.

"It's like being ripped apart, isn't it?'' He said, his blue eyes intensely fixed on yours. ''Something pulls you, tears you, drags you, and not externally, but from the inside.''

''Well, if you're awake, yes. But you're asleep and you wake up there... well, my head hurt a lot and I knew it wasn't because of the drink. It felt like my skull was going to be blown to bits at any moment, with a horrible ringing. And then you feel it all over again when you discover that you've woken up in the past century.'' You shuddered again, Johnny's face becoming slightly pale.

"You kept feeling it outside the Devil's Palm.'' He said. ''You didn't tell me.''

"It didn't seem important.'' You examined him for a moment, while yawning. Then you added serenely. "Louise said she didn't feel anything.''

''I see.'' He now looked across the sea, where a small boat was spreading its V-shaped wings in the water. Further away, the waves from the passage of a larger boat hit the rocks and came back, joining together again in the middle of the sea, creating a long, humpbacked ripple in the glistening water.

"Why?''

"Nothing special.'' He lied.

He was willing to say what he wanted, but then he realized that maybe it was too much for you. Perhaps it was the unusualness of the situation –sitting there, calmly asking himself if the woman who had accompanied him, as well as running the unimaginable risk of being in an unknown past, could also develop some ability within the Devil's Palm.

Whatever the cause of his uncertainty, it suddenly seemed not only possible, but probable and real.

"You're an archaeologist, so you know about dinosaurs, right?'' He asked, not only to give his troubled feelings some time to calm down, but also out of an inviolate curiosity that not by chance the conversation about short men had brought up.

"Yeah, I love dinosaurs, actually.'' You said proudly. "I must confess that they’re the main reason I chose archaeology. But I began to delve into history before completing any specialization in paleontology.''

He subtly widened his eyes.

''So you studied three things at university? ''

''Oh, I wish. All in all, there were a few dozen subjects I had to study.''

"That's fascinating, I thought Gyro was the smartest person I knew, but I guess I was wrong.''

You laughed, getting another wave of wind in your face.

''But why do you ask? I'm surprised you know what dinosaurs are.''

"What do you mean?''

''Ah, I mean, don't get me wrong! How many years ago were dinosaurs discovered, seventy? It's not common knowledge here. You've met an archaeologist, haven't you? I remember you mentioning it.''

"Ah, yes... Doctor Ferdinand. He wasn't a very nice fellow, but he showed me some... dinosaurs.''

''Oh, really?''You suddenly straightened up, keen to listen. Johnny seemed to have noticed the gleam that lit up in your eyes, but he didn't seem too pleased about it; as if it wasn't a reaction he expected you to have. ''What were they like? Did he have complete fossils? Did he do archaeological digs?''

He stopped to think for a moment, like someone taken by surprise. But why? Was he lying? It didn't seem like it, you remember him mentioning this name with Gyro; maybe it was just an experience he wouldn't want to remember, so you made a mental note not to keep this subject any longer than necessary.

"Well, they definitely had all the bones, but I have no idea what kind of dinosaurs they were.''

''They? Are you telling me he had more than one whole fossil?''

''Oh, yes, dozens.''

"Seriously? In 1890?'' You said, interested. It wasn't impossible, anyway. ''What did they look like?''

"Ah, small and voracious.'' He said, finding it funny, as if it were some kind of inside joke that you would never understand. ''With long tails, sharp teeth, short arms and they were... I mean, they seemed to be very fast.''

''Hm, did they look like predators?''

''Yes, definitely.''

''Were they bipeds?''

''What?''

''Oh, I mean, did they walk on two legs?''

''Yes. I mean... I don't know. Maybe.''

''If they were fast and voracious, they could be Velociraptors, but there are hundreds of similar dinosaurs. It could be either a baby Coelurus or an adult Compsognath, there's no difference if you look quickly.'' You finally said. You didn't look at Johnny, but kept your eyes averted. His mouth twisted into something that wasn't quite a smile. ''Do you think those voracious little guys are older than the Devil's Palm?'' You said abruptly.

''I don't know. Do you?''

''How would I know?'' You said. ''Maybe yes, maybe no. Probably yes. But, at the same time, probably not. But... no, those rocks were made by something or someone. More something than someone. We didn't even come close to living with the dinosaurs, you know. We appeared some sixty million years later."

His eyes widened like those of a child discovering something new and ready to spread the knowledge to his friends.

''Million? Sixty million?''

''Sixty-six million years, more specifically. That's when the dinosaurs became extinct, in the Cretaceous period.''

''Oh, and to think that the corpse...''

"It's only two thousand years old, yes.'' You added.

''What took us so long to show up? How old is the world, anyway?''

''Oh, the Earth is insignificant, Johnny, and we're even more so. A species two hundred thousand years old on a planet four billion years old. And I still ask you, how old is the Devil's Palm? Older than humanity, that’s sure.''

"But you said that someone made the claws.''

''Oh, yes, of course, the claws. But not the crater.'' You corrected yourself. ''But there is something... maybe it's not my best thesis, but it is something. I'd never thought to mention it to Thom.''

''Hm, I'm all ears.''

''I'm sure those claw-shaped rocks aren't a natural phenomenon, they were built to mark something. It doesn't matter who or what erected them, but why. I'm sure that the corpse is linked to this; more specifically, each part of it. And if they were erected, it means that there could be a lot of places where it was marked. It makes sense if you analyze how important and frightening this place seems to the natives and also... who the corpse belongs to.'' You tilted your head to the side, pushing the windblown hair away from your face, and gave Johnny a lopsided smile.

"So... what does that mean?''

''What if, when the parts were scattered across the continent, they formed other kinds of Devil's Palms? What if they didn't dissipate even after the parts were reunited? What if those places are still out there, wandering?'' You took a deep breath, unable to find any more words for your reasoning. ''That would make things easier.''

''Make what easier?'' Johnny felt confused by the rapid changes in the conversation.

''The way back home. And if there are other... places...'' You gestured broadly in the direction of the sea. ''Underwater, for example? The Devil's Palm is always on the move, after all.''

"And that would be a time corridor, a passage... Whatever?'' Johnny stared absently at the waves, perplexed by the idea.

"It would make a lot of things easier.'' There was a hidden smile at the corner of your mouth. Johnny couldn't tell if you were serious or not. "What if there are other places like this, what guarantees that Louise and I are the only ones? What if, I don't know, some prehistoric creature was the first victim to pass through that crater and that's why we hear stories like the Loch Ness monster? What if it was just a plesiosaur lost in the fabric of space and time?''

"Ah, that would explain why there are so many stories about it.'' Said Johnny, becoming increasingly intrigued by the idea, even though it made no sense to him.

''And it would explain why the creature or creatures have never been captured and can't always be seen. Maybe they pass through to the other side, too, so they don't stay there all the time.''

"What a crazy idea!'' Johnny said. You laughed.

"You know what?'' You joked. "That's definitely not my best thesis.''

Johnny laughed, bumping into a bottle of wine that abruptly hit the floor and woke Louise up. She snorted, sat up abruptly, blinked, then lay down again, her face red with sleep and, within seconds, breathing heavily.

"She stayed up late last night, she couldn't sleep.'' You said, taking her defense.

Johnny shook his head distractedly, watching Gyro sleeping as heavily as Louise.

"Gyro's like that too.'' He said tenderly. "He can lie down and sleep anywhere.''

''Even on the race?''

''Especially on the race.'' He smiled. ''I've seen him sleep under the snow, on a rock, on top of Valkyrie...''

You laughed, leaning more languidly on the floor of the boat, letting your hand run over the rattling barrels. A small cloud obscured the sun, turning the sea suddenly gray, with dozens of small waves rising to the surface as the light wind intensified. Below, in the wake of the boat, the water was dark and unfathomable. Raritan Bay wasn't very scary, nor very deep, but it was terribly cold. What could live in such a place?

"Would you go down there, Johnny?'' You asked softly. ''Jump off the boat, dive in, keep going down into the darkness until your lungs feel like they're exploding, not knowing if there are monsters with sharp teeth and big, heavy bodies waiting for you?''

Johnny felt the hairs on his arms stand on end, and not just because the sudden wind was freezing. But also because he had seen many monsters with sharp teeth and heavy bodies.

"But that's not the whole point.'' You continued, still staring at the mysterious waters. ''Would you, if Gyro were down there?'' You straightened up and turned to face him. "Would you?'' Your eyes stared intensely into Johnny's, as steady as a falcon's.

He moistened his lips, dry and chapped by salt and wind, and cast a quick glance over his shoulder at Gyro, asleep. He turned back to face you.

"Yes, I think I would.''

You stared at him for a long moment, then shook your head without smiling.

"I would go for Louise too.''

Lucy Steel's house on Staten Island was in a place called Pleasant Plains, not far from the beach where you landed. Johnny thanked the captain and God that they hadn't landed in a harbor and you soon understood how much better it was for you and the horses to be able to reach dry land calmly and quietly, without a whirlwind of people on all sides. The only downside, in this case, would be the exceptionally cold breeze from the beach and the sand in your shoes.

"What now?'' Louise asked as she stroked Vegas's muzzle. ''Do we know where the address on the letter is?''

''Definitely not.'' Johnny replied, frustrated. ''Let's get off the beach first. Then we'll look for information.''

''Sounds like a good plan.''

The two men rushed towards the small thicket that covered the edge of the beach, with a small, well-marked path running through it. It shouldn't be an uninhabited area, you thought, analyzing the fences on the sides of the path and the small sign adorned with flowers that read "Mount Loretto Beach". The shore was small, narrow, just like the trail. The slightly disturbed sand meant that the seagulls weren't the only passers-by.

"So?'' Gyro asked halfway along the path, looking at an empty pier not far from where he was standing. ''What the hell are we going to do?''

''What do you mean?'' Johnny asked.

"You know what I mean. Are we going to play detective? Do it all over again?''

''You know things are different now.''

''No, I don't.'' He grumbled, looking at Johnny sidelong, noticing that he still didn't seem to have fully recovered from his nausea. ''All right there, Johnny? We can rest if you want.''

"I'm fine.'' He insisted. ''Don't worry. Let's just get this over with.''

Gyro patted Johnny lightly on the shoulder to make sure he was still alive and moved on, you could see the shadow of a smile on his face in the distance. Everyone pulled up on their respective horses, you lagging a little behind as you tried to cordially persuade Judas to do the same without head-butting and biting. For a moment, it seemed to work.

It was a deserted part of the island - not surprisingly, most of Staten Island shouldn't have been inhabited at this time - and you wondered where and when you would find Lucy Steel.

Despite the distraction offered by Judas, you could see the white lines of the surf moving rhythmically on the small half-moon of the beach. It wasn't a placid tourist beach - small pockets of sand spread out in disorder, filling and emptying with the churning foam, among the mounds of seaweed, gravel and jagged, protruding rocks.

The only sounds, apart from the seagulls, were the gentle lapping of the waves, the hum of the wind through the bushes and, eerily, the distant murmur of voices.

Should you make any noise? You asked yourself. The wind blew hard enough to keep the trees and bushes in constant motion, masking the sound of footsteps on the sand and that of anyone else who might be approaching. Gyro seemed to be asking himself the same question as you, but made up his mind more quickly, looking ready to say something when he was interrupted.

"Lucy, we've been here two days ago, why do you insist on coming back?'' A strong male voice asked, and the name it said was enough to make you freeze.

"You're pale as a ghost, darling.'' A female voice replied, much calmer. ''You need sun and sea. Did you know that beach water is rich in zinc? That could be good for you.''

"I feel perfectly fine, you don't have to worry about me.'' The voice sighed. ''Did you finish yesterday's book?''

Very inconveniently, you felt a little nauseous and more than a little dizzy. You felt more and more disoriented as anxiety and nervousness crept into your chest. How would you act? How would she react? What would you say? What would she ask? You begin to feel your fragmentation between day and night throughout your journey to this island.

During the night, you were a creature of thought alone, escaping from your drowsy immobility by a disciplined and obstinate recollection of plans and ways out of your situation in the avenues of thought and meditation, seeking refuge in the crackling of fires while reading and re-reading the useless file folder in your saddlebag and staring forlornly at your flashlight that you never dared to turn on. But with the sunrise, all reason disappeared, immediately succumbing to a sense of terror and doom as that bright ball emerged into the pure, fresh sky like a beast to blind your restless eyes.

You stared at the sand as you walked alongside Louise, listening to the compact clatter of the horses' hooves just behind; your conscience sharp enough to prevent you from stumbling, despite the heavy burden. Judas was hesitant, he wouldn't accept being pulled so easily by a ridiculous creature like you, so a little more effort was required of him. Your sweat cooled in the breeze as if you shared the horse's fate.

"Is that them?'' Gyro asked, not knowing exactly whether to himself or Johnny.

"Yes.'' Johnny confirmed. ''Were they already waiting for us?''

''No, they're not that idle. Maybe they're just here for a walk.''

What could you say? Nothing, you thought. Absolutely nothing. There was nothing to be said now or when you see the girl. You wondered if this feeling was the same as that of a time traveler seeing their parents when they were young.

You were still pondering this as Gyro led the way down the narrow path. What about her husband? Could you disguise your strangeness when you looked at him? Every time you heard Stephen Steel's name, it was uttered by Thomas Foster. While Lucy's name was always seen handwritten in calcography on your desk, on top of a pile of documents and letters, the ink aged and faded by time, the original color transformed into a sepia tone. Unlike Thomas, you didn't just recognize Lucy as the wife of a decrepit promoter.

Besides, how old was Lucy when she married him? Fourteen? You knew that such marriages were not uncommon, but fourteen years? You knew people who got married at nineteen and considered it a way of condemning their own lives.

The further Gyro and Johnny went, the more you and Louise slowed down. Louise did it automatically because she was walking alongside you, but you did it as a way of trying to avoid the inevitable; to avoid a flood of dilemmas and paradoxes that you knew would soon flood your mind.

"Do you see them?'' Louise asked, narrowing her eyes and tilting her head to peer above Johnny.

"No.'' Johnny said. "But I see footprints and the voices aren't far away.''

"Let's follow them, then.''

Louise seemed excited, in a way. You couldn't understand how she still managed to maintain her energetic, full-of-life air after everything that had happened.

You wandered along until the path opened out into a dirt road; it wasn't a totally isolated area, you thought again as you spotted a few lampposts. You'd even convince yourself that you weren't in the past, but the wooden structure was too rustic and there was a rancid smell of lard - a good substitute for oil and electricity to light streets.

However, it didn't seem to be a very frequented place, so there was no point in lighting it if it wasn't in some upscale area.

The trail was not long, but it was quiet. Both Gyro and Johnny were focused and even looked worried, probably for different reasons. As for you, you were busy thinking, not only about your past and present, but also about the immediate future.

Lucy Steel had been the closest thing you'd ever had to a guide or a distant mentor. Due to circ*mstances, most of your references throughout your life were men; there were no other women archaeologists, historians or even geomorphologists, and the natural abyss of her death, which occurred three decades before your birth, prevented more than a superficial knowledge of a woman who became indispensable in your work. As for the women in Thomas' circle and at work, the secretaries in the departments and the wives of other managers... of all of them, you only had Louise, a lifelong best friend.

Above all, however, there was the certainty that, of all the people in the world, Lucy was the one who should care about the Ecclesiastes project as much as you did - if not more, much more.

You were looking forward to seeing Lucy, but you couldn't help wondering how she would receive you, it was impossible to get rid of the hammering in your mind.

The horses could now follow side by side, as could your group just ahead of them. Judas obediently slowed down when Gyro's mare stopped, then turned at your pull command and headed straight down the road, following the unlit lampposts. Ahead, there was a clearing and something like a carriage in it, half-hidden by a vault of alder branches, but no Lucy.

At least not from that side, you thought, and turned to the other side of the road; an area overlooking the beach, clear of trees. From that distance, you could see a small gray dot in the sea, the boat was returning to the port of Keansburg, and Lucy was watching the gray dot disappear into the blue expanse next to an older man in a green suit.

It was only when the girl's face turned in your direction and a nod appeared in your field of vision that you finally felt the mantle of the human condition fall over you. Body and mind came together again as you prepared to meet Lucy Steel.

"Lucy?'' Johnny raised his voice and asked foolishly, preferring to confirm that it was really her before saying hello. ''Lucy Steel?''

''Jojo!''

A smile lit up her face, displaying a pair of large incisor teeth, white, shiny and perfect like those of a squirrel. Lucy had very intriguing, beautiful, slightly asymmetrical features, like a Modigliani painting, and long blonde hair, loose around her shoulders, interspersed with damp strands. She was young, about sixteen as you'd imagine, with rosy lips and dusty cheeks. She was dressed soberly; a long pink linen dress, suitable for the beach, and a hat too. It didn't look very different from what someone from your century would have worn, you thought.

Seeing Johnny, she hurried as fast as her skirts would allow, her cheeks flushed in a way that reminded you of a bright poppy; leaving the older man behind, stunned as he watched both the scene and the four of you. Slowing down as she approached, she hugged Johnny; as cordial as it was thrilling, that hug.

Johnny, although surprised, didn't take more than a few seconds to shyly return the embrace. When she pulled away, she could see Gyro.

"Oh, Mister Zeppeli!'' Her smile opened wider, genuinely. This was the first time you'd seen her, but it was clear she wasn't used to smiling. ''What a wonderful surprise!''

She seemed inclined to want to hug him, but controlled herself and just shook his hand energetically, her blonde hair like that of angels in chapels fluttered and knocked off her capeline hat. The older man, following just behind her, bent down to pick up the hat and reached out to shake the sand. Stephen Steel, you recognized him, tall, blond with grey lines, a long nose, a sparse, unshaven beard, grey to the point of making him look covered in a layer of sugar. He looked at Johnny in surprise and amazement.

"Joestar?'' He asked, looking at him as if he were a ghost of a relative. ''You... How?''

Johnny didn't say anything, nor did Stephen, but they both knew what he was talking about. He looked at his own legs for a moment, then turned his attention to Stephen.

"I thought Lucy had mentioned it.'' He said amiably, holding out his hand for a firm shake.

''No, she didn't.'' Stephen returned the handshake with the same firmness and confidence. ''Forgive me, but how the hell? I thought it was... ah, well, irreversible. How are you standing?''

You were willing to listen to the conversation, but someone nudged you and took all your attention away. Louise was still standing next to you, possibly more confused. The two of you watched in silence; the impact of that reunion didn't warm your souls.

"Do you know him too?'' She murmured. You were at a safe distance to whisper discreetly.

''Probably Stephen Steel. Her husband.''

''Husband? But...'' She grimaced. ''I knew she was married, but isn't this guy too old?''

''Yeah.''

''And what are they talking about? Why is he so impressed with Johnny's legs?''

''I...'' You hesitated, looking at her and then at them to make sure it really was safe to talk now. You whispered as quietly as possible. ''I don't think he could walk. Somehow, now he can.''

''Ah... so that's it.''

"I see you have company.'' Lucy said sweetly, walking a few steps towards you. The day and the joy of the reunion left her unaware of why Gyro and Johnny were here, but the final need for an explanation brought the enormity of it all crashing down on her. ''Partners, I imagine?''

''Yes...'' Johnny confirmed, but then choked on his own words when he saw Lucy's arched blonde eyebrows rise. ''Oh, I mean, no! They're partners, but not as you think.''

Gyro laughed his typical laugh, amused by the sudden blush on Johnny's cheeks. Lucy held out her hand and you, ignoring all the shivers and alarms in your body, returned the shake, feeling sure that she felt your hand as cold as a dead person's.

"This is (Y/N) and Louise.'' Sensing the instant freezing of your tongue and Louise's nervousness, Gyro took it upon himself to introduce you.

"Lucy Steel.'' She said, making no slips in her politeness and courtesy, although you knew very well that she would want to know who the hell you were and what the hell you were doing there.

"It's a pleasure.'' Louise said with a smile, shaking her hand right after you. ''We've heard a lot about you, me and (Y/N) were really excited to meet you!''

"Well... we'll have time for that.'' Stephen butted in, walking behind his wife, but towards Gyro. ''For introductions and explanations, I believe. Mister Zeppeli, getting shot has done you more good than me, I must say.''

Noticing movement behind her, Lucy turned to look at the two men, stopping just in front of you. She was short, barely reaching Louise's first rib. Yourgaze rose, attracted by a strange tension between Gyro and Lucy's husband, shared, apparently, by common experiences involving bullets.

"Nyo-ho! I'm not as whole as I look, Mister Steel. But you look fine.'' He was clearly lying, you thought, observing Stephen's gentle hump and deep wrinkles. Although he looked old and weak, he didn't look the least bit harmless for his age. He was tall, very tall, and sarcopenia had not yet taken away the width of his shoulders and shoulder blades.

"Oh yes, I'm better than they planned. Alive, at least.'' He then turned to Johnny. ''I imagine you've just set foot on dry land, judging by the smell.''

''I've been worried. The letters I sent you months ago haven't been answered.'' Lucy added.

''Ah, well...'' Johnny stammered, remembering a brief part of the letter that asked him not to mention more serious matters around Stephen. ''Maybe it's because I'm never in one place, so I don't get most of the letters.''

"Oh, so you're not at Bastille anymore?''

You frowned for a moment. Did she know the Bastille Tavern too? You'd seen Gyro mention the place on his first day, and now Lucy? What's in that place, anyway? It just looked like a brothel for travelers, nothing much.

"Yes and no. I still visit, I help the girls, but nothing more. Why are you here, anyway? I thought you didn't want to leave Manhattan.''

''And why here?'' Gyro asked Stephen, annoyed by some mosquitoes and the sticky feeling of the sea air. "I see nothing but sand and trees.''

''Lucy didn't feel comfortable with the life in Manhattan and we lived in a very bad neighborhood, quite frankly.''

''Now your new neighbors are mosquitoes, huh? They don't seem very friendly.''

Gyro was right, those mosquitoes were voracious to say the least. But your head wasn't present enough to bother with that.

"I'm glad you've arrived safely.'' Lucy said, casting a strange but harmless glance at you and Louise; she didn't seem to understand what you were doing there and, no doubt, there was no greater rudeness than a guest calling someone else, especially a stranger. ''Forgive me, where are my manners? We're on our way home, it's not far. We have good facilities for the horses and for you too. Please come with us.''

"Yes, Lucy's right.'' Stephen agreed cordially. "I think you two have a lot of catching up to do. What are you doing here, anyway? Are you still working with bounties?''

"Ah... yeah.'' Johnny answered shyly. ''That's part of the reason. But we also knew you were here, I saw the addresses in Lucy's last letters. I just didn't expect us to meet the moment we arrived.''

''One of the advantages of living near the beach, but we were just out for a walk, I think it was a coincidence.'' Lucy said, a little less euphorically. ''Margaret should be starting to prepare dinner by now, shouldn't she, dear?''

''With her sense of quantity, I'm sure there'll be enough food for everyone here and still plenty for the rest of the island. I see no reason not to invite you.'' Stephen added friendly.

If you'd found Lucy interesting before, now you were fascinated. So this was Stephen Steel's wife, commanding enough respect to maintain a considerable influence on her husband's choices; being able to invite friends and to dinner right in front of him; as well as making him buy a house in another state for her comfort. Being the wife of such an old and influential man seemed a considerable weight of male expectation for such a young girl to bear, but she seemed to cope with it very well; and so far Stephen didn't seem the most threatening man- nor perverted, if you were honest.

But pervert or not, Stephen was also fascinating. You listened to his conversation with Johnny –Gyro seemed too distracted and tired to participate –and gleaned a considerable amount of information. He was a prosperous partner of importers of wines and other alcoholic beverages, as well as a promoter of events; the Steel Ball Run, although controversial, highlighted his competence among businessmen and the rest of the elite, who tended to ignore all media fuss.

Lucy assured you that her house was not far away, but for reasons of convenience and space, you would have to accompany their carriage on horseback. Along the way, Louise seemed confident enough about Vegas' obedience to stand by the carriage window answering Lucy's questions; you stood right next to her, but quietly, there wasn't much to say unless asked.

"Forgive me, you're Miss (Y/N), right?'' So you were asked, and you vowed to bang your head against the first wall you saw if your brain wasn't capable of answering something so simple.

"Oh, yes.'' You said, turning suddenly to see Lucy leaning on the window.

"Have you known Johnny and Gyro for a long time?''

You hesitated, but disguised it.

"Well, long enough.'' You said. ''It's a complicated story, but you'll understand. I hope we won't be a bother until then.''

''Oh, no! Of course not!'' She said, suddenly embarrassed. ''Oh, forgive me if I made it sound like that. You're not a bother at all! I just... well, if Gyro and Johnny trust you enough to let you travel withthem, then who am I not to?"

"Oh, you trust them that much?'' Humorously, Louise intervened in Lucy’sapology. ''Don't you think they have a screw loose?''

She smiled, refraining from laughing, although you could see an amused glint in her eyes.

''Well, you're the ones saying...''

''You're not far enough or talking quietly enough.'' Gyro butted in, just ahead, pretending to be angry, but smiling. ''I'm offended that, of all people, you two are saying we're crazy!''

Realizing that you hadn't done this for a few hours, you smiled when you received a curious and incisive look from Lucy.

"Don't listen to him.'' You said mockingly.

Chapter 19: Lead Me On

Chapter Text

"You can leave your horses with Peter, don't worry.'' Stephen assured you after you reached your destination, although you weren't too worried about where you would leave Judas - if this Peter wasn't mentioned, you would just leave the horse where it was.

The Steel's house stood in front of you, a beautiful building, large and noticeably well ventilated and well lit. You crossed the lawn, ignoring the stares of several servants, gathered at the upper floor windows, pointing at you and whispering among themselves.

"Please, come in.'' Lucy said, a little nervously. ''A good chat before dinner is ready would be great, wouldn't it?''

''Ah, Lucy, I'm afraid I can't come in now.'' Said Stephen, pausing for a moment to brush some leaves off his shoulders. "I told you I had a conference, didn't I?''

She paused for a few seconds, as if she hadn't forgotten the information. Gently, one of her hands touched the other in an involuntary gesture, and she smiled.

"Ah, how could I forget?"She said sweetly. "But you're coming for dinner, aren't you?"

"Of course.'' He said humorously, but without smiling, looking at Gyro and Johnny. ''Please, make yourselves at home. We have a lot to talk about over dinner, right?''

You had the strange sensation of being in the background, of being just an omnipresent viewer. And visible, of course, you thought as you stared at the bustling shapes in the second-floor windows, pointing and whispering at you and Louise. How many servants were there in that house? It wasn't an easy question to answer now, but you had the impression that this would be important information.

And speaking of important information, you were deeply annoyed by everyone there. They seemed to be talking in code; Stephen's passive air, combined with his slightly grim expression disguised by a sympathetic radio announcer's voice, gave you the impression that he wasn't entirely happy with Gyro and Johnny's presence; at least, not as much as his wife. In a normal situation, if you didn't know them, you'd think they were Lucy's lovers judging by the constant exchange of glances; however, those glances weren't - thank God! - in any way lustful.

The house was isolated, but not completely. You could tell that there were neighbors, however distant, on the outskirts. It was a plain surrounded by a coastal forest, the beach not far away. However, everything was silent when Stephen left, the air still and heavy. Even the birds were silent, with only the occasional peck of a woodpecker breaking the silence.

When the horseman took Judas with the other horses, after preparing the horses of Stephen's carriage to set off again,you quickly unzipped your saddle bag. It contained nothing but files and your flashlight; but that, faced with the prospect of having a difficult conversation with Lucy about corpses and time travel, seemed useful enough.

You intended to tell her, of course. But not the moment you arrived. You wanted her to get used to you and Louise first.

"Please, follow me.'' Lucy said after waving to her husband. Her voice didn't change at any point, but she sounded subtly stern.

You hesitated for a moment, turning to watch Gyro and Johnny and doing something only after seeing them do it. Their jaws seemed clenched with tension and they both loomed behind you like two Colossi of Rhodes . Lucy was waiting on the front porch of the house, the door already open and the horses already following the sun- and salt-burnt young Peter, who had greeted you too briefly.

Gyro had also hesitated, you could see that, apparently foreseeing what was to come inside that house, but the combined forces of pity, boredom and exile had brought him to Staten Island and walking through that door would be the least of his worries.

Then she led her unexpected gueststhrough the house, ignoring the few surprised servants thatpassed, crossing the entrance and a small room, with paintings and memorials that you didn't have time to read who they belonged to, but there were many names. The living room boasted a fireplace with a well-polished console, silver and glass objects shone here and there, reflecting the late afternoon sun.

"A nice house, huh?'' Gyro commented, more bothered by the silence than the others. ''How long have you been here?''

''A few months.'' She replied. ''There's still a lot to do. I'm tired of going into town every time we need something, so we're working on the animal enclosures and an area for the vegetable garden."

"How far are we from this town?'' Johnny asked, sitting down on the arm of an armchair when he realized they were no longer walking around the house.

"About twenty minutes on horseback.'' Lucy smiled briefly at the thought. "When we're not carrying chickens and goats, of course.''

Listening to such an unrelated and casual conversation, not knowing any of the people and feeling like a complete intruder, your first impulse had been to turn and walk away, but there would be no explanation or reason for that. Louise gave you the message, noticing that Lucy was watching you, her eyes calm and confused. You also noticed the silent communication between Gyro and Johnny, an invisible vibration in the air, as if they were two beads on the same string.

"You look tired. It's been a long trip, hasn't it?''

You looked at her, surprised by the sudden interaction.

"Yes...'' You said, pragmatically. ''Yes, it was quite a long trip. Louise and I came all the way from Washington.''

She raised her eyebrows, politely interested and ready to say something, until Gyro intervened.

"And I came from another continent.'' He said. "The trip was especially long for me.''

''Oh, it's true!'' Lucy said, remembering that Gyro is Italian. As if it were even possible to forget that. ''How long have you been here, mister Zeppeli?''

"You can call me Gyro, missy.'' He said sympathetically, perhaps a little surprised at the formality. ''A week ago, I think. As soon as I landed, Johnny already threw a ton of tasks at me.''

''You say that like you did it all by yourself.'' Johnny defended himself. ''It was you who asked for more things to do.''

''Of course, of course. I've been bored for a long time.'' He said, patting one of the steel balls in his holster. ''Can you imagine, Lucy? Almost two years without breaking someone's face with those steel balls.''

''Sounds awful.'' She said casually, enjoying the moment.

The house was spacious and airy inside, with high ceilings and French doors, but at the same time it didn't look so formal. It was furnished with comfortable elegance, but there were a few paintings and subtle handicrafts that gave it a touch of sweet home. You saw pieces of silver and crystal when you passed the dining room and thought that, apparently, Stephen Steel was very successful in whatever his current line of work was.

"Can I get you something to drink?'' She asked when she saw from the other side that a maid was approaching with a pot of tea and just one cup, clearly not expecting visitors. ''I usually drink chamomile tea every afternoon before studying, it's great for concentration.''

"Oh, so you're studying?'' Gyro asked amiably.

''Yes, I'm doing the best I can.'' She said mildly, looking at the silver tray the maid had placed on the table. ''Thank you. Can you get them something to drink?''

The woman looked ready to answer, when Johnny interrupted her.

"Actually, Lucy, we can skip that, can't we?'' He suggested, clearly anxious. "We have more pressing matters.''

Gyro, however, didn't seem to agree with Johnny's haste, but he didn't intervene.

Lucy's delicate, chronic smile wilted a little at the sudden break in pleasantries, so she dismissed the maid with a sympathetic nod.

"Oh, yes, of course... I understand.''

Lucy asked them to accompany her, and this took you to a private room not far from the kitchen, smaller and more intimate, with the same amount of furniture as the larger rooms, but with homely touches among the brightness of the polished furniture and decorations. There was a large wicker basket full of skeins on a small polished wooden table, next to a glass vase with summer flowers and a small, silver, decorated bell. A spinning wheel was spinning alone and slowly in the breeze that came in through the open French doors.

It was then, before entering, that Lucy stopped, somewhat confused.

"I'm sorry for the rudeness.'' She said, turning to you and Louise. "But I don't know if mister Zeppeli and mister Joestar would like to talk about it so openly...''

Rudeness , you thought ironically when you heard her call Gyro and Johnny mister Zeppeli and mister Joestar . Then you looked at them; Gyro was distracted, gawking as he observed every corner of the house, clearly amused by the idea of dinner. Johnny seemed more focused, although you could see in his frown that nothing seemed more urgent to him than a bath, yet he still seemed to understand the gravity of the situation.

"Don't worry, Lucy.'' Johnny said. ''They can be part of the conversation more than Gyro and I.''

Lucy hesitated and looked at you with friendly suspicion, then waited for everyone to enter. The house and all the furnishings looked simpler than Stephen and Lucy actually were, but it was all very well looked after, beautiful and organized with more than just good taste. You realized what was behind the elegant proportions and graceful decorations when Gyro stopped abruptly next to a large blackboard on the wall.

"Damn, Lucy.'' He said, turning to her. "Do you really need to study all this?''

You thought you saw her expression turn somber, but she soon smiled again, not too blatantly . You could see what he was talking about: equations and functions; all relatively simple, but which aroused laziness and a bad shiver when you remembered high school. You doubted that Gyro had gone through an educational system similar to yours and Louise's, but you knew that the Zeppeli family had a good familiarity with trigonometry and numerical sequences such as Fibonacci’s.

"Yes. Stephen says I need to focus on my education before I decide to live as a housewife forever."

That room looked like a general study area; gently adapted for some craft activities, but mostly planned for Lucy's studies.Stephen seemed too sensible a man for the time; perhaps he had more of a sense of how much time he had left than Lucy and feared that she wouldn't find another husband like him.

"If you're here, I imagine you've read my letter.''She said seriously, then looked at you and Louise. "All of you. I didn't think you'd come so quickly.''

''We were already on our way to Manhattan, actually. Then I got the letter at Stafford station and saw your new address.'' Johnny explained.

Lucy widened her eyes, somewhat puzzled.

''You were already on your way? Why?''

Johnny looked at you, as if asking for some kind of confirmation to proceed, and you gave it, albeit terrified. He took a step in front of Lucy and, not knowing exactly where he had been guarding, you saw him hold out his hand and show her one of the corpse's eyes.

You realized how frightened she was when you saw her, in a jolt, recoil at the sight of the corpse's eye. That didn't sound like something she would want to come into direct contact with again and you could completely understand why; but what you couldn't understand was why Johnny and Gyro would resign such a task of protecting the corpse to a girl like her. But you figured, then, that as oblivious as he was, Stephen probably knows or usually takes sides in this matter - but if so, why did she ask you not to mention it around him?

Gyro and Louise exchanged glances that made it clear that this was precisely what they were thinking.

"What? But... no... how?'' She began to stammer, her voice shaky as if she wasn't as ready to broach this subject as she imagined. ''How did you find it?''

''I didn't.'' Johnny said harshly, and then the eyes in the room fell on you and Louise. Lucy no longer looked as friendly as before, just a frightened mouse.

''Who are you? Why...'' She began, not taking her eyes off you.

''Oh... right. I guess I need to do this again...'' You said, looking for somewhere to sit, deciding to lean on a table next to the blackboard that Gyro had stopped looking at.

You took a deep breath, with a long, shuddering sigh, and pursed your lips, until you thought you could speak calmly, hoping that somehow Louise would help you this time.

"Louise and I work... we used to work at the Speedwagon Foundation, I'm sure you know it. I was an archaeologist, and she...''

"Human resources sector.'' She added, signaling that she would help you, leaning on the arm of an armchair on the other side of the room. ''Technically I was the second person to find the corpse... well, outside the bunker or wherever you hid it.''

Lucy's eyes lit up, completely unaware of what was to come.

"Did you find it? Was it with someone? Where, exactly?'' She began her questions, much more impatient than when it had been Gyro and Johnny's turn.

"In New Jersey.'' Louise continued calmly, signaling Lucy to remain calm as well. ''But we used to work in Washington DC.''

''Washington? That doesn't make sense. How did they find the corpse in New Jersey?''

Louise remained silent, pursing her lips and staring at you. You were grinding your teeth now, to the detriment of a new filling. Then you stopped and moistened your dry lips.

"Listen, Lucy.'' You said, as sensibly as possible, although saying her name made your throat tickle. ''I'm sorry, but this story is much more confusing than you think, I know how it sounds. But we're going to tell the truth and after that there's nothing I can do about it for now.''

This speech did nothing to restore Lucy's confidence, and she moved closer to Johnny. He, however, had lost his dispassionate tone and showed signs of cautious interest as he listened to the story being told again, but in a more coherent and calm manner. Was it possible that he really had enough imagination to be able to understand everything this time?

You drew hope from his face and opened your clenched fists.

''It's that damn place. Devil's Palm.'' You said. "You know, the crater with the circle of claw-shaped stones?''

"Devil's Palm... yes.'' Lucy murmured. ''The one in the Arizona desert?''

''Right. Yes.'' You let out a loud breath. ''But that place hasn't passed through Arizona for many decades... I mean... two years, at least. But you must know the legends about this place, right? About people who gain mysterious powers, become delirious, become serial killers... get trapped and wake up in the last century?''

Lucy looked increasingly alarmed.

''I can't understand it. Yes, I know that place, I saw a horrible murder that happened there with my own eyes, during the Steel Ball Run. But where are you going with this?''

''I'm saying that, well, this thing moves. But not only that. It was in New Jersey.''

''You don't have to tell her everything, (Y/N).'' Gyro interrupted, looking more worried than bored. ''It might just end up making her more confused.''

''No, wait.'' Johnny said. He looked at you, with the kind of repressed curiosity that a scientist shows when he puts a new slide under the microscope. ''Go on, (Y/N), you're doing fine.''

"Thank you.'' You said dryly. ''Don't worry, I'm not going to start talking bullsh*t; I just thought Lucy would like to know that there is a real basis to the legends. I have no idea what's really in this crater, only how it works, but the fact is...'' You took a deep breath. ''Louise and the research team found the corpse in the Devil's Palm, in an isolated forest, and took it to Washington so that my team and I could study it.''

"You're telling me... that the corpse is in Washington, then?'' She swallowed dryly.

"No. It's not.'' You continued, with frightening calm. ''I was head of research for the Ecclesiastes project, you recognize that name, don't you? The fact is that we can't say who took the corpse out of the bunker, and we can't even say that Louise found the corpse... because that hasn't happened yet. It won't happen until 1976.''

And there was the poor thing, paralyzed, frowning, unable to understand a single word. You'd have thought she'd react like that; but if she could solve high school equations, she could handle two time travelers, couldn't she?

''1976? I... I don't understand... what are you saying?''

"Louise and I stole the corpse from the lab in Washington.'' You explained slowly. ''Then we went back to New Jersey, because the crown of thorns wasn't sent with the rest of the corpse; it stayed with the other research team. But we also knew that the Devil's Palm was still there; we had the technology to know that and we completed the corpse there, on top of the Devil's Palm, and waited for dawn to leave."

"We didn't intend to come back.'' Louise added what she thought was necessary. ''(Y/N) talked about some competitors of the Speedwagon Foundation who would pay a fortune for the corpse, so we decided to try our luck. Anything was better than going back.''

''Yes.'' You confirmed. ''And at some point we slept there, and somehow went through a damn time rift in Devil's Palm in 1976 and woke up in the same place, but in 1892.''

It was almost exactly what you had said to Gyro and Johnny. They stared at you, perplexed, for a moment, and then gave up trying to understand or question. They simply accepted it.

You could see in those round, terrified blue eyes that Lucy didn't doubt your story one bit; on the contrary, it seemed to make more sense than it did to Johnny or Gyro, but you sensed that some rational side of her mind naturally rose to question it.

Gyro, Johnny and even you were looking at Louise now; all aware that the story followed the path of the corpse.

"I woke up first, I didn't notice anything different.'' Understanding that it was her cue, she continued. ''Except that the research team's tents were no longer there; but the corpse was, and that's what mattered. I picked it up and put it in the same box we brought it in and... Ha, well, I must have missed the eye. It's (Y/N) who's paid to be careful with mummies and corpses, not me.'' She added, in an effort to make fun. She wasn't very successful; Lucy's face contorted into a grimace and she looked more worried than ever. ''The first person I came across was a thief. Or two, maybe. The point is that I believe that in this day and age young women don't walk around unescorted and, if they do, it's not wearing t-shirts and carrying a shiny plastic box. This somehow made them see that there was something wrong with me. Luckily I was far enough away for them not to see (Y/N).''

Luckily? You thought remorsefully.

''They thought twice before deciding to kill me, so they just decided to capture me and show me off to their leader. After that, I thought that my physical integrity was a priority before recovering the corpse, so I didn't bother to find out what happened to it.''

"The leader in question...'' Johnny decided to add, his voice startling Louise. "It's Joshua Creed.'' He said, and a slight shudder went through Louise at the memory of that name. ''I was there, I found their camp and I was about to capture him...''

He looked at you and you gave a slightly complacent smile, already understanding how inconvenient your arrival had been.

"Until I showed up and ruined your plans.'' You added. ''Well, it was too much of a coincidence, it wasn't my fault.''

''Joshua Creed? I feel like I've heard that name before. What... what did he look like?'' Lucy seemed to come out of her stupor, at least slightly.

"A f*cking pervert.'' Louise answered immediately, feeling more able to talk about it. Lucy's eyes widened and turned to Johnny with an identical look of dismay.

"A pervert, linked to Dio.'' Johnny added again, triggering some immediate memory in Lucy that made her expression soften in understanding. "Do you know him, Lucy?''

She immediately pulled herself together, a fist delicately closed over her chest, as if she could feel her own heart beating.

"No, not personally.'' She said. ''But I've certainly heard this name in places where there was no reason for it to be said, but I can't remember.''

''Regardless of how well known this man is.'' Gyro interrupted. ''We don't know what kind of connection he has with Dio, or what would happen if this corpse fell into his hands...''

"And it's certainly already in his hands.'' Lucy added coldly. ''Well, at least we have a part. It's a tremendous relief to know that you have at least the eye, even if you found it completely unexpectedly.'' She gave you a strange look, as if you were some kind of alien.

"And what are we going to do?'' Louise asked, crossing her arms, knowing that everyone wanted to ask the same question.

''Wait for Stephen.'' She answered. ''He didn't agree to call you when the corpse disappeared, but I needed to... well, we can explain part of the story to him. Part of it. You're an archaeologist, aren't you?''

''Oh, yes.'' You replied, tired of this question.

"That's great, we can use this to explain what happened... without involving the Devil's Palm.''

''Why should we hide it from him?'' Gyro asked. ''He saw as much as we did during the race. It's not like he hasn't already dealt with it.''

''Before they tried to assassinate him.'' She said coldly. ''The job is stressful enough for him, I'm fighting to keep his health from getting worse, and this story would take a good few years off his life.''

"I agree.'' You added involuntarily. ''That's not an easy thing to understand. Even Louise and I don't understand it. Let's not make this any longer than it has to be.''

Although Lucy was much kinder and easier to deal with than Gyro and Johnny, you still felt you owed her proof and explanations. So, before the matter came to an agonizing and temporary end, you considered handing her the documents you had picked up, but quickly dismissed the idea. You hadn't taken the time to organize them and you feared that she would see the documents she had written herself, not wanting to imagine how confused the poor girl's mind would be. So you just discreetly left the folder and the flashlight on the study table, figuring that Lucy wouldn't be back there again today.

You spent the rest of the day in abstraction. Lucy seemed ready to introduce you to every room in the house and, with extra excitement, the garden, wandering distractedly from one side to the other, introducing you to the servants who popped up every now and then.

"Aren't those the guys who used to work at the race?'' Johnny asked when he saw an exceptionally short man, very familiar even to you.

"Yes.'' Lucy said. ''Some of them worked with us even before the race, and they're still with us.''

''They haven't changed a bit, they seem as hurried and busy as ever.'' Gyro commented, drawing a giggle from Lucy.

''You haven't changed a bit either, mister Zeppeli.''

''Oh? What do you mean?''

''You haven't changed as much as Jojo, I mean. You still have the same quirky sense of humor.''

Gyro's reply was nothing more than a golden smile.

''Have I changed?'' Johnny asked, curious.

''Oh, yes, you certainly have.'' She said, then looked at Gyro as if she needed confirmation. ''Don't you agree?''

''She’s right.'' He confirmed, looking at his friend without worrying about embarrassing him with his scrutiny. ''You look more mature, stronger. Nyo-ho! Taller too, that's for sure!''

Johnny grimaced at Gyro's joke, refraining from further comment, and for a while you all walked along, sometimes together, sometimes with Lucy, Johnny and Gyro leading the way, meeting and introducing workers and places in the house and garden. You were happy to follow them, so that you could look at them without disguise.

Even though you hadn't met them before, you sensed a certain atmosphere of evolution in them. Lucy was right, Johnny had changed, he had the aura of a moth that had just come out of its cocoon - crumpled wings, fragile, but better.

He seemed more... dry, hardened. Like a piece of ceramics finally ready. A man totally turned in on himself for two years. The long muscles of his arms were not very striking, but well defined under the skin. His blond hair looked as if it had been lighter before - from platinum to pure gold - and was adorned with a blue cap full of stars and a horseshoe on the front. Horseshoe for good luck? You wondered, not believing it to be a purely aesthetic choice.

But the expression of a well-made man appears not only in his face, you thought, amused. It is in his limbs and joints also, it is curiously in the joints of his hips and wrists, it is in his walk, the carriage of his neck, the flex of his waist and knees...

Walt Whitman's poem had always summoned Thomas to you, but now it encompassed Johnny and Gyro too, no matter how different the three of them were.

"This is your home.'' Lucy said tenderly. ''If you need anything, ask the maids. You're completely welcome here, don't forget that.''

You met the house servants on your little exploration when you arrived in the late afternoon. The last stop was the house's garden, full of peonies, hydrangeas, roses, and various other flowers that were apparently Lucy's personal choice. Some colorful birds rested and refreshed themselves in the small fountain and on the roof of two narrow buildings, with space for just one person and a door decorated with flowers. Apparently, these were the toilets, and you felt immense relief at the prospect of privacy, even if the structure wasn't much different - although strangely more hygienic - than that of chemical toilets.

Walking through the garden with Louise, you didn't see anyone other than the man who watered the plants selectively, the only one who wasn't short and chubby, just like the others you'd seen. You flinched a little at the idea of suddenly being in constant control of a whole group of servants, but you reassured yourself that it shouldn't be much different from directing assistants in the laboratory, as you had done before.

"When will her husband be back?'' Silent for a long time, Louise thought she had seen enough of the house and decided to rest on the steps of the front porch. Not wanting to part from her, you stood there, watching the small dirt road and no other houses around.

"Before dinner, of course.''

''And what time is it?''

''I don't know. What time do people here usually have dinner?''

''Not at the same time as you, I'm sure.'' She scoffed, but tiredness didn't let her smile.

In fact, she had looked like this for a long time. The theater she put on when she smiled at the sailors or pretended to be entertained by Gyro's stories became much more evident at times like this, when she gave in to exhaustion, sitting on the step while looking out over the vast, deserted countryside with a despairing gaze.

"What now?'' She asked.

''What?''

''We told Lucy, what now?''

''I... I don't know.''

''Are we going to look for the corpse again?''

You sighed heavily, feeling the weight of this sentence and this situation suddenly fall on your shoulders like a lead blanket. Sitting down next to her, you rubbed your hands on your arms against the cold wind. Gyro, Johnny and Lucy were in the garden,or justgetting their luggage from the horses.

"I think so.'' You replied. "Believe me, it's the last thing I want to be doing.''

"I do.''

Louise gave a slightly crooked smile, without looking at you. You saw that she had swallowed and felt like hugging her, but she was already getting up, gesturing towards the door.

"I'm starving, aren't you?'' She asked. "What do you think we're going to eat? I hope it's not fish... that eel is still swimming around in my stomach.''

You then stood up and put your hand on her shoulder.

''Hey...'' You whispered. ''Is everything all right?''

Of course it wasn't, you thought, but there was no other way to ask.

''I'm fine...'' Her smile was better. ''Just tired and hungry, like you. And that's all...'' She gestured to the house and everything around it. ''It's just very rustic, very... old, you know? Too nineteenth century.''

''Really?''

''Really.'' She confirmed. ''It's getting cold in here, I'm going in.''

The small area that you thought was the anteroom of the house, although not as narrow and practical as one, was quite useful. There were a few bookshelves and a coat rack that you had dispensed with. A mirror hung at shoulder height, but you could still see your face and Louise's next to it. You saw her lightly touch her own lips, cursing a cut and at the same time pleased that the bruise on her temple was fading and could easily be hidden by her hair.

You didn't have any significant wounds, just cuts, scrapes and calluses that you could feel inside your old, worn-out shoes. But you were whole; you looked alive, at least.

"I look like a crazy person.'' You said.

"You are a crazy person.'' Louise said, but it sounded strangely comforting. "But look... you look less pale.''

''Pale?''

''I mean... now it feels like there's blood running through your veins. You look more... I don't know, radiant?''

''I don't know if radiant is a good word for... this...'' You pointed at your reflection in the mirror. ''But, yes, constant adrenaline makes the heart beat faster and the blood flow faster. Maybe that's exactly what I needed... a week on horseback. And you're not so bad either... better than me, at least.''

"You're being kind.'' She said, somewhat dejectedly. ''I stink.''

''No, you don't.''

''Yes, I do.''

''Haven't you ever been near Gyro? Nobody stinks around him.''

''Oh, no...'' She gave a brief smile. ''No, the only time I got close to him was when he rescued me... and I bit him, thinking it was some giant hyena grabbing me.''

You laughed, turning to the other wall to look at the frames.

"A completely natural reaction, I'd say...'' You rested your hands on your hips as you looked up at a picture above you. ''Hey, I wonder what's written here...''

Louise approached to try and read it, but some voices in the background distracted her from her initial task and she turned like a pigeon to listen in hiding, just like you.

"No, certainly not.'' You were half catching the maids' conversation, it seemed. ''What woman would allow that?''

You were curious about the nature of the conversation and so was Louise, both of you cautiously closing the door to listen more carefully.

"Ah, that must be the effect of the road.'' Another voice said. ''They're pretty, though.''

''Ah, pretty? Well, they're young. But the boys are handsome, whille those ladies look like two tanagers."

"Tanagers?'' Louise asked.

"She meant that we're less beautiful than Gyro and Johnny.'' You explained. ''Or at least grayish and dull. While the males are colorful and handsome.''

''Since when do you know about birds?''

"They're the closest relatives of the dinosaurs.'' You joked.

''Oh, of course.'' She said, dismissing the question she'd asked. ''But ugly? For God's sake, at least we have all our teeth.''

"And we don't get variola.'' You added, equally indignant.

"Nor scurvy!'' This time she laughed a little louder, denouncing her presence to the two maids who elbowed each other and shut up before they even saw who it was.

There was a brief, hurried rush that made you feel slightly guilty, but that feeling soon subsided.

"Should we talk to them?'' You asked.

"Absolutely.'' Louise replied. ''And be nice to them, too. No matter how their bosses treat them.''

''That's obvious. But... I can't get used to it.''

''To what?''

''A house with a maid for every room.''

''Ah...'' She giggled. ''Don't worry about it, you just need to follow one universal and timeless rule.''

''Which one?''

''Don't f*ck with those who handle your food.''

"You don't seem to follow that rule." You said, raising an eyebrow at her.

"Ah, shut up!" She laughed.

Being sure that she had learned this from dating an Italian chef and finding the rule extremely sensible, you took a step forward. The living room was a large room, but not at all like the living rooms you were used to. In fact, the room's only use was to keep visitors under control and limit the extent to which they could explore the house - keeping everything that interested them, such as drinks and food, in one place, as close to the exit as possible.

You could see the two maids in the kitchen, among the aromas of herbs and roast chicken. Your stomach rumbled embarrassingly, but only Louise heard and refrained from commenting. You spent days feeding yourselves on unseasoned meat and canned food seasoned only with aluminum and poor production controls.

There were only two maids. An older lady, chubby, rosy cheeks from the heat of the kitchen and shiny gray curls tied up in a cloth cap, occasionally escaping, rebellious. You guessed that was the cook when you saw that the other maid was young enough to be her daughter, but she was just sweeping the floor with disguised resignation, as if they were hiding the cardinal sin they had committed of stopping work for a few seconds to chat about the sudden visitors.

When you saw them, they also saw you and Louise. Their eyes, both clear, but one blue and the other gray-green, widened and they stopped what they were doing in exaggerated respect. You slowed your pace, losing your initial courage and letting Louise go ahead of you.

"Hello.'' Louise said sympathetically as she stopped in front of the counter that divided the kitchen from the dining room. ''We haven't had a chance to introduce ourselves, have we?''

''Oh, no, no.'' The younger girl said in a frantic but disciplined way. ''There's no need to...''

"Don't worry, we're not mesdames. '' Louise said, holding out her hand. ''I'm Louise, and you?''

The girl hesitated for a moment before accepting the handshake, but took courage and did so.

"Vionnet.'' She said. "At your service, ladies.''

Louise then held out her other hand to the cook, who promptly wiped her carrot-smeared hands on a clean cloth and returned the shake.

"Margaret, but you can call me Margie.''

Being as polite as Louise, you also shook their hands.

''(Y/N).'' You said simply. ''Do you know what time it is?''

''It's six o'clock.'' The youngest answered promptly after checking a clock you hadn't noticed on the mantelpiece in the living room.

''Do you know when mister Steel will be back?''

''Oh, I’m not sure.'' Vionnet turned to the kitchen, her eyes wide and pretty like a owl’s. ''Margie, do you know?''

''In an hour, perhaps. Or two. It depends on what he's doing.''

"He said he was going to a conference.'' Louise said, leaning casually on the worktop. ''It smells great! What are you cooking?''

"I'm preparing the chicken that young Peter brought from the town.'' Margaret explained in her husky, sweet voice, returning to her chores. ''Accompanied by mashed potatoes with grated carrots. Is there anything you ladies would like to add?''

''Oh, no, it's fine as it is.'' You said. ''That's a real feast next to the rabbits Johnny used to hunt.''

"Oh, and Gyro's coffee.'' Louise added, feeling goosebumps. "Nothing is going to convince me that that isn't oil.''

Vionnet and Margaret looked at each other, mutually curious, and then turned to the two of you.

"Johnny...'' Vionnet babbled. ''Did you mean Jojo? Joe Kid?''

''I thought he'd visit madam Steel one day, after so many letters... but I didn't see you two coming, ladies.''

''Does Lucy write a lot of letters to Johnny?'' You asked, curious.

''Oh yes, every week! We don't know what she writes so much, but she says it's extremely confidential and she only trusts young Peter to deliver them to the station...'' The cook continued, hopelessly seized by the impulse for a good gossip. ''But, ah... well... I imagine you're their wives, aren't you? Lucy is a very good girl, she would never commit adultery or do anything inappropriate, I can assure you of that. They're just good friends.''

"Yes, good friends!'' Vionnet confirmed, which reassured you that that wasn't what they thought.

"Oh, we're nobody's wives.'' Louise clarified. ''I'm just a widow and my friend here... she's a woman of science. What Johnny and Lucy are sharing is none of our business.''

"Even so, I hope they're not sharing anything.'' You said harshly. "She's only sixteen.''

"And mister Steel is fifty-eight.'' Vionnet said. "I think she'd be happier with mister Joestar, don't you?''

You remained quiet, both dumbfounded by the age difference between her and her husband and defeated by the cleaning lady's argument.

"Poor thing...'' Louise said quietly, looking around to make sure they hadn't returned from their expedition in the garden. ''And how is mister Steel?''

''Oh, Lucy is the only person he ever treats with kindness.'' Margaret said, refraining from further description when the door to the living room opened with a creak. You could see from the gleam in Margaret's eyes that she was anxious to tell you something more. By now, you had seen the whole house and most of the servants and concluded that everything seemed strangely normal.

Louise looked at the door and so did Vionnet. You lingered a little longer as you watched the cook grate the carrots with a very different grater than the ones you'd seen before.

"Did you enjoy the garden tour?'' Louise asked with a certain amount of sarcasm.

Whoever had come in had dumped a considerable amount of luggage on the floor next to the armchair and was walking towards the kitchen.

"Ah, yes.'' Gyro answered, tired and equally sarcastic. ''You missed a very interesting display of the gardener pruning peonies.''

''How unlucky for us.'' You said, turning to see what he had dropped.

If the maids had any doubts about your stay or visit, they were all cleared up when Gyro left his and Johnny's bags on the floor, planning to take them to another room later. However, helpful and frantic, Vionnet promptly picked up the bags and made a point of taking them upstairs.

Startled by the small figure that had shot right past him to pick up the bags, Gyro felt a twinge of guilt at making it look like he had left the bags there for a woman to carry.

"Hey, hey, girl.'' He stopped her, not being quick enough to put his hand on her shoulder. ''Don't worry about it, I can carry it up myself. I'm just taking a break.''

Vionnet raised her glowing face to Gyro, who outstripped the little maid by almost twelve inches. She looked just a little older than Lucy, graceful and slightly curvy; in front of her, Gyro looked like a Roman sculpture, severe and broad-boned. With his long, straight nose and long hair gleaming gold.

''As you wish, mis... mister...'' She answered Gyro a little late.

''Zeppeli.'' He said, with an exaggerated amount of confidence. ''Gyro Zeppeli. And you, pretty girl?''

''Vi...Vionnet.''

''Oh, Vionnet.'' He smiled when he pronounced her name in an exaggeratedly French way. ''That's a nice name. I would never allow a girl with such a pretty name to carry my luggage.''

"Vionnet, listen to the man and come finish sweeping the kitchen!'' The cook ordered, not too sternly.

Noticing Louise lightly tapping on your arm with her elbows, you smiled at the scene.

It was indeed remarkable, you thought, the instant effect Gyro had on women. He didn't say or do anything out of the ordinary, yet Gyro undeniably caught people's attention. He possessed a fascination, almost magnetic, that drew everyone into the glow around him.

It drew you in; Gyro turned and smiled at you, and without realizing that he had moved, you saw him close enough to notice the soft, dry tan on the tops of his cheekbones and feel the faint wisp of flowers that remained in his hair from his wanderings through the garden.

"Where are Johnny and Lucy?'' Louise asked, an expert at breaking uncomfortable silences.

"Johnny is putting the saddles away and Lucy is insisting that he let the groom do it.'' He replied, with a hint of humor. ''And you, ladies? Getting to know the house better?''

''Yeah, how long are we going to be here?'' You asked, a little diffident.

''Lucy won't let us leave until everything is sorted out.'' He said, putting his hand on his hip and taking off his hat. "Look on the bright side, you'll have beds for a while.''

"Oh, you mean we have guests, then?'' The cook intervened, looking at the young maid. ''What are you doing standing there, Vionnet? Go tidy up the rooms!''

''Yes, ma'am!'' She promptly obeyed, abandoning her previous task of sweeping the kitchen.

You frowned, somewhat confused and worried.

''Gyro...'' You said, putting your hand on Louise's shoulder to make her walk with you. "Can we talk to you outside?''

Gyro stared at you like a circ*mspect owl, but readily agreed. On the way to the door, you saw him turn to the lovely Vionnet for a moment; some congenital tic made him unable to close a single eye in a wink whenever he wanted to, and Louise held back from giggle. But that impulse soon vanished when you stopped on the porch outside the house and Louise closed the door behind her.

"Seriously.'' You said, changing your tone almost instantly to head scientist as you crossed your arms. ''How long are we talking about?''

"Don't talk like I know, bambina. '' He said, as frustrated as you. ''I didn't want to spend my vacation in America like this either.''

"Well, I didn't want to spend my post-demission like this.'' Louise added, just to show that she was unhappy too. ''Where are we going to start, anyway?''

''After the bastard with the corpse, for sure. And then the Devil's Palm, which seems to be the hardest part without the trackers.'' You said. ''Johnny seems to know how that gang acts, he must have some clue as to who's with the corpse now.''

"Are you serious? I'm sure it's with Dio right now.'' Gyro said.

''I'm sure it's not.'' You interrupted. ''It takes eight or nine days from New Jersey to Staten Island, which is half the way it would be if we were going to Manhattan... and that's where he lives, right? Manhattan. The corpse is not with Creed, it seems, but with some very reliable courier.''

''And how do you know that?''

''That's what he said at the hiding place.''

''And why the hell wouldn't it already be with Dio?''

''I don't think he's in such a hurry to build a plane that can deliver the corpse to him in minutes!''

He was surprised when he saw you raise your voice, impatient, but he didn't back down.

"You don't even know what you're talking about.''

''I know more about that corpse than anyone else in the world now and that's the only thing that matters!''

He laughed debauchedly and tiredly.

"Let's see if you'll say that when you're in the hands of Dio or his affiliates.''

''I'm sure the corpse never even left New Jersey. We don't know the actual location, but we know the destination, and that's a big advantage."

"He could be bluffing.''

''Yes, he could. But then where could he have left the corpse? For God's sake, Gyro, we can be smarter and faster than that. We need to get home, we can't waste any more time and above all we mustn't abuse our damn hospitality here! God, Louise and I have barely met Lucy and suddenly we're waiting for her husband to arrive for dinner? Meanwhile the corpse is somewhere, and the Devil's Palm is somewhere else! And guess what? We need to find them both, Gyro, both of them! We can't stay here while...''

"Oh, darling, you're early!'' You heard a quiet voice say up ahead.

A sudden silence came over you and you didn't dare continue the discussion. Your embarrassment expanded with such force that it almost tore you apart. Stephen arrived, in his green suit, social but not overly formal. Stepping firmly, breathing heavily, and soon was in Lucy's arms. The next moment you heard her - alive, real - coming out onto the porch with a rush in her fresh pink dress, the short but full sleeves hiding her shoulders. The march of the day resumed its course, and it was time for dinner.

"Looks like someone's came early for dinner.'' Louise remarked relaxedly, although disconcerted by the discussion, as she watched Stephen Steel get off the same wagon that had left. She was clearly surprised, perhaps as much as the maids would have been, by Stephen's early hour. ''Good, I'm starving and you shouldn't stress on an empty stomach, Lady Loboutin. ''

"Listen to your friend and get your head on straight.'' Gyro said. ''What's the point of going home if you're too mad to enjoy it? The day isn't over yet.''

One of the effects of stress, withdrawal and sleep deprivation is that you stop thinking coherently; and that's exactly what was happening to you. But you'd gotten used to this state enough to know that you only had two choices when faced with a social situation: keep quiet and look unfriendly, or open your mouth and look hysterical.

Even though you weren't always in a similar situation, you had chosen all your life to keep quiet, and now would be no different; but what irritated you was the satisfaction on Gyro's face when he saw you suddenly go silent, as if he had won something.

He'll lose that smile soon , you thought spitefully, and then smiled to greet mister Steel.

Chapter 20: You've Got A Friend

Chapter Text

Mister Steel was a tall, contemplative man, with an incongruous blond head of hair that looked more like a little sea animal on top of his head. He told that he had obtained a set of gold-plated Chinese ceramics in exchange for a few bottles of authentic Scotch whisky.

''I'm not a professional potter, you see.'' He said, sitting on the couch. ''I don't travel much. But things end up finding me.''

It was obvious. The tiny kitchen was crammed to the ceiling with expensive and delicate objects that had once been useful, and perhaps could be again, when he decided to use them.

"Why don't you sell them?'' Johnny asked, raising an eyebrow at a cupboard full of crystal cues that didn't seem to have been used for a long time.

''I've thought about it sometimes.'' Mister Steel replied laconically. ''But most of them are gifts, they say that doing that is bad luck, you know.''

They continued talking about parallel, informal, friendly things. Like old friends catching up. Lucy sat on the edge of the couch, picking up a small piece of fabric which she seemed to be finishing embroidering, and assigning it to the task while listening to the chatter in the room. Louise watched Lucy's delicate movements, distracted. All the women, including the maids, were remarkably silent.

''Oh yes, I came back because the conference was canceled, some damn protesters, anarchists or whatever they are decided to throw rotten tomatoes at a business partner of mine. In the end, I just had to sort out... well, everything.'' Stephen said when he heard Lucy mention quietly that he had arrived earlier than usual for his conference.

''In that case, maybe we shouldn't be disturbing you.'' Johnny said.

Stephen stared at him for a moment, it was clear that he agreed, but then he remembered his manners.

"Don't worry about that, don't worry!'' He said, fervently. ''I was just wondering about you guys these days.''

He gestured for Johnny to sit down on the couch.

''I wish I had come sooner.'' Said Gyro, settling himself better in the huge bergere armchair.

The fourth wall of the room had floor-to-ceiling windows, and the light of the setting sun sparkled off the pearl clip in Lucy's blonde hair. The strands were beginning to break free from their confinement and she absent-mindedly tucked one of them behind her ear. You involuntarily approached the armchair where Gyro was sitting, because just behind it was a bookcase crammed with books and trophies.

"Really?'' Stephen said distractedly, gently shaking a small bell on the center table of the room, summoning the helpful Vionnet to some routine task. ''Well, you could have come. Our doors are always open.''

Then the little green-eyed creature, like a squirrel, appeared between you and Gyro. Summoned to serve cognac, she appraised the two of you with a shrewd glance, and then was disguisedly surprised when Louise smiled at her.

''Actually, I had already arranged for me to come at the beginning of the year.'' Gyro continued, accepting the glass of cognac poured for him by the girl, who blushed when she received a smile of thanks. Her reaction, however, was quite neutral when you smiled at her as you accepted the same drink. ''But there was an emergency at the hospital in Napoli. I'm a doctor, you know.'' He explained, smiling discreetly at the look of surprise that Stephen couldn't disguise. ''But I'm sorry I didn't come. I really would like to have visited Manhattan.''

You wondered why Stephen seemed so surprised; you imagined that saying he was a doctor was some way of hiding the family's true lineage of executioners, and if Stephen didn't know that about him, then he probably didn't know anything else. You didn't say anything, because it seemed rude to question.

"Oh, no, you wouldn't.'' Stephen said after taking a long-overdue sip of cognac. ''That's Dio's territory now. Like dogs that piss from one street to another.''

The comment drew a laugh from Gyro; Mister Steel laughed a little too, but held back when he realized that you and Louise were still standing, gesturing nicely for you to sit on the other couch, next to Lucy. You glanced briefly at Louise, who understood the message and went to sit down. You, however, were curious about the books.

''Excuse me...'' You said sympathetically, interrupting the conversation. ''But those books... I recognize many of them. Do you like history, Mister Steel?''

It would make sense if he did, you thought as he considered your question.''Beyond Borders: Explorations at the Edge of the World''was one of the books you recognized as also being on the nightstand in Thom's room, you didn't know who had written it, but you knew it had something to do with the Steel Ball Run -of course, everything Thomas consumed had something to do with that race.

Apart from this book, there were many classics that had been released relatively recently for the time. Clearly, Stephen's library was not one of dusty old books;Fyodor Dostoevsky, Dickens, George Elliotand even the unforgivableOscar Wildewere some of the authors present. Their works were very well cared for, some in editions and models you'd never seen before, all with shiny leather covers. But of all of them, the ones that most caught your eye and made you wonder wereMichelet'sbooks on the French Revolution and some that you didn't know, but seemed suggestive for historians, such as"History of the Popes"and"The Protestant Reformation in Germany".

''Not just history.'' He answered. ''Anything that can be put into words and read. I'm a voracious reader, you know. Books are good for the mind. Do you like reading, miss... ah...''

''(Y/N).'' You replied, smiling. ''Yes, I like to read. I've read most of these books.''

''Oh! Even mine?'' He asked, smug but good-natured. ''Look at the name under the title of some of them.''

And you looked more assiduously at the authors' names. Stephen seemed to be a dedicated writer, you thought when you saw the thickness of a book called''Beyond the Finish Line: The Transcontinental Race and the Exploration of the American Spirit''and three others right next to it;''Running for the American Dream''and...

''Beyond Borders!'' You read, amazed. "Did you write it?''

That would explain Thom's idolatry.

''I see you've read something of mine.'' He laughed, pleased and flattered. ''What did you think?''

''Ah, well... I haven't read it, but I know someone who has... an old friend. It's about the Steel Ball Run, isn't it? He was obsessed with the race.'' Everyone seemed to have glimpsed a fleeting shadow crossing your eyes, although it was quickly concealed when you went back to looking at the books.

''Yes, I wrote it during the race; it was my first book.'' He explained, intrigued by your curiosity. ''Your friend seems to have good taste, I'd say. But what about you? From the way you talk, I can tell you're not a farm girl, not even a simple housewife. What would you be? Let me guess... a student?''

''Oh, is there something different about the way I talk?'' You asked, refraining from answering right away.

''Of course. You speak clearly, cleanly. Maybe it's just nerves or politeness, but I feel there's something more. In both of you.'' He nodded politely to Louise, who was looking at some embroidery Lucy was doing. ''Maybe it's your companies, Gyro and Johnny, that make you seem unique... but there's something else.''

''It makes sense, maybe you're right.'' You snorted, moving closer between Gyro's armchair and the couch Louise was sitting on. ''I was a student, yes, when I was at university. I'm an archaeologist now.''

''Fascinating.'' Stephen smiled, he looked really impressed, and placed the empty cognac glass on the small table. ''An intellectual, I'm surprised you're accompanied by Gyro and Johnny.''

You giggled when you saw Gyro's frown under his hat.

''Fascinating, really fascinating. And you... Louise, right?'' He nodded at her, who confirmed with a brief glance. ''And what about miss Louise, should I ask?''

''Me?'' Louise looked up, surprised by the sudden attention. ''Nothing as fascinating as (Y/N). I'm just a widow.''

''Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. And how did you two meet?'' He continued to ask.

Louise took a few seconds to answer and, feeling that it would be unfair to keep her as just a widow, you decided to intervene.

''She's being modest, mister Steel. We met at college.'' You lied.

''Oh, so you're both academics? I must say that fills me with joy. I've never met a studious woman, and now that I've met you two I'm more convinced of investing in Lucy's education. Tell me, miss, what do you have a degree in?''

''I'm... ah, well, I have a degree in social communication, you know? Human resources, advertising, that sort of thing.''

''Advertising?'' Suddenly, Stephen's eyes lit up. ''That's a very useful qualification. Do you work?''

''Not at the moment.'' She replied. ''We're having... well, some personal problems.''

You noticed that she indicated Johnny and Gyro with a glance, and Stephen's sharp mind suddenly seemed to understand and recognize the situation. It was obvious that he knew about the corpse, and it was obvious that he knew what Gyro and Johnny were doing there. The only thing that wasn't obvious to him, however, was you and Louise - that's why there were so many questions, you thought, but now everything seemed to have been suddenly clarified in his mind.Archaeologist. Corpse. Gyro and Johnny.

''Yes... I understand.'' Stephen was silent for a few seconds, until a thought occurred to him and he rose from his chair. ''I'm being a terrible host; please allow me to invite you to dinner again and then we'll talk about it further. Perhaps I can help you myself.''

Lucy paused for a moment, watching her husband speculatively. And that made a little knot of anxiety form in your stomach. You didn't intend to take part in this conversation; however, the food was smelling very good and your stomach needed some peace after days of eating fruit and oat breads.

Without much choice as to what to do while sitting at the table waiting for dinner to be served, you watched everything with frightening clarity, also without any relevant conversation to listen to.

Then, suddenly, all anxiety was relieved for a moment when the robust Margaret appeared with plates and a bottle of champagne. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, until you saw the brief astonishment on Gyro's face as he stopped beside you to look at the bottle.

From the name, it seemed to be a French champagne; it wouldn't make sense if something French evoked memories of his homeland. So why did he seem so hesitant? If not, simply amazed.

''Let's have something to celebrate your coming.'' Stephen waved his long, thin hand in the direction of the glass case. ''I don't suppose you've tried anything decent since you left Italy, have you?''

Gyro laughed, pulling out the chair next to him, but not sitting down.

''Indeed not, mister Steel. And how do you get it here?''

''I was lucky to make a good stock.''He shrugged and smiled, looking complacent.

Johnny looked at Gyro, who was staring at the bottle with strange familiarity. Stephen extended his hand towards the table, not bothering to look. He didn't need to. The butler set down a crystal glass where his fingers could reach it. Stephen held it up and placed it in the center of the table, along with the other glasses.

''Ah...'' Johnny said, looking equally surprised, but not as expressive as his friend. ''You kept this?''

''Nyo-ho-ho...'' Gyro smiled and laughed again, almost as if he had just been challenged. ''Where was this bottle, anyway? I thought you'd lost all your stock at the end of the first stage.''

''Ha!'' Stephen said good-humoredly. ''Luckily, I kept some on the train. Would you like to do the honors? No holes in the ceiling, please.''

Gyro brushed a strand of hair out of his face and picked up the bottle, raising it as his eyes fell on everyone at the table, but resting on your face.

''This, ladies, is a special champagne.'' He said. ''I can't believe you saved it just for this occasion.''

''And why wouldn't I?'' Stephen asked, amused. ''Just open it however you like.''

You didn't understand the last sentence until you saw what he meant as you watched Gyro lift one of his steel balls and place it under the bottom of the bottle. As far back as you could remember, you knew that the Zeppeli family was full of secrets, intrigues and, above all, techniques, used as much to save a life as to end it. Gyro, as the first-born, should have a good knowledge of all this - and he was making good use of this ancient technique to open bottles and impress ladies.

Louise opened her mouth as she watched the steel ball begin to rotate between the bottom of the bottle and the palm of Gyro's hand; the energy transforming into a gentle heat, and the heat reverberating through the glass of the bottle, affecting the pressure to the point where the cork popped out, bounced gently against the ceiling and fell onto the table beside your hand.

Gyro bowed and served everyone. Lucy and Stephen looked happy, Louise was completely impressed and Johnny pleased; everyone smiling except you.

Wherever your mind was, it wasn't at that table,Gyro thought as he watched you pick up the cork and analyze it, feeling the soft warmth dissipate from the material, trying to understand.

''There's plenty more where that came from,bella.'' He said, smugly, as he poured your glass. You tried to smile politely.''Cin cin!''

It was good champagne, smooth as silk and strong as the sun. You could feel it reach the bottom of your stomach, take root and spread down your spine. It seemed to have a similar effect on Louise. You saw the slight frown diminish, and then her face relaxed.

The topic of conversation fortunately moved on to more current news, things that you and Louise, who weren't present during the Steel Ball Run, could understand.

''Hmm...'' Stephen straightened up in his chair after hearing the news of the terrorist attack in Tuckertown; knowing full well that, as Johnny said, there was more to it than that. You could feel a sudden wave of anxiety when you saw Louise clenching her own fingers at her side. ''Be that as it may, Johnny. Lucy said you should think of here as your home, and she's absolutely right. You're all welcome here. And I'm sure we'll find a less scandalous and less deadly way of recovering what has been lost.''

''I appreciate that.'' Johnny murmured, but didn't want to look him in the eye. He looked down at the table, and you saw his hand around the champagne glass, holding it tight enough to turn his knuckles white.

Dinner was being served, you could smell the delicious aroma of roasting chicken coming from the kitchen, carried by the evening breeze across the lawns and flower beds, and Johnny's embarrassment subsided a little. He frowned over the glass of champagne, having only accepted it out of politeness. He hadn't tasted it yet, although everyone had already drunk half of their respective glasses.

''That.'' Stephen said. ''Exactly what brought you here, which I know very well. How are we doing?''

Johnny took a deep breath, giving up drinking altogether.

''Not good. We've lost track of it and all we can do is speculate. There's a good chance they're accurate, but they're still speculations. I'm sure the same is going on in your head; it's about Dio, I know you have it easier for you to know where he is and what he's doing.'' Johnny hesitated as he said the name. ''Can I ask you...''

"I can't promise you anything, mister Joestar, but you can ask.'' Stephen replied formally. He had barely touched his own dinner, no more than he had touched his champagne.

Johnny paused even longer, calculating his chances. He wasn't going to get everything done so quickly; he had to tackle what was most important, but leave room for Stephen to reject a few requests.

''We need time, mister Steel. Time and information that you have.''

Stephen swirled the champagne in his glass, watching the firelight play in the vortex. Ordinary business first, he reminded himself. There will be time enough for conversation later.

''We don't need that much time.'' Gyro intervened, confident with his club. ''We just need you to tell us where Dio is and we'll take care of the rest.''

''Johnny's request is already a bit complicated...'' Stephen began. ''Now yours, mister Zeppeli... I have no words.''

He definitely wasn't happy, but he didn't seem disappointed either, as if he'd expected it from them.

''We don't intend to overstay our welcome.'' Gyro insisted. ''Just tell us where we can find Diego, and we'll do what needs to be done away from here. We don't want to put you and your home at risk. We're just asking for cooperation.''

''Forgive me if I sound rude, but am I not cooperating enough by just letting you step inside, have dinner with me and my wife?''

''Stephen...'' You heard Lucy mutter with her eyes downcast, staring at the untouched plate.

''I can see you're in a hurry, a real hurry. We all are. But what makes you think that Diego is behind this?''

''What makes you doubt that Diego is behind this?'' Impatient, Gyro questioned. ''He's the only one who came out of all that mess alive apart from us.''

''Yes, exactly. And I can safely say, mister Zeppeli, that the odds of him getting out alive were much higher than yours. You were saved by divine goodness, if not by Valentine's carelessness. Are you willing to start all over again, without even being sure of what you're doing?''

''It was with Joshua Creed.'' Louise finally intervened, hesitantly, but feeling it was necessary. ''Joshua Creed kidnapped me, and there I saw the corpse. Joshua Creed is some kind of business partner of Diego's, isn't he? That's proof enough.''

Stephen's broad shoulders suddenly tensed, his muscles bulging under his green jacket. He picked up a piece of chicken and spun it on his plate casually, his elbows on the table, breaking some notable rules of etiquette.

''That was a curious subject to broach, ladies.'' He said. ''You haven't told me how you met Gyro and Johnny, isn't that a bit rude? After all, you're still strangers here. I don't believe you're wives, so what brings you here?''

''Actually, dear...'' Lucy intervened, gently taking your defense. ''We talked this afternoon, they clarified everything for me. It's a complicated situation, there's no way of pointing out rudeness.''

''Oh really? Can you ladies tell me?'' After Lucy's intervention, you noticed that the broad shoulders relaxed a little, the tension easing now that you had won his wife's sympathy.

"Ah, well...'' You began, thinking of discarding many details, but keeping to the same path as the story you'd told Lucy. ''It's a long story, but Louise and I were unlucky enough to meet Creed. As far as we know, he's the last person to have laid hands on the corpse. ''

''And how exactly do you know this?''

''We were attacked.'' Louise quickly intervened. ''His gang held me hostage and I saw the corpse in their hideout. That's all.''

Stephen's eyebrows rose, intrigued, but he allowed you to continue.

''I don't want to prolong such a bad mood at the table...'' You continued, this time looking at Johnny. ''But I sought the help of a bounty hunter to find my friend, and I heard that Johnny had been hunting Creed for months.''

''Exactly.'' Johnny also contributed, much more confidently than you. ''Creed and Dio have a partnership; I'm sure you've heard his name. He's one of the biggest smugglers on the East Coast.''

Stephen's eyes turned to the piece of chicken on his plate. It was a thigh, meaty and tasty.

''Definitely.'' He confirmed, with a slight tone of frustration. ''Yes, I've heard that name. But I didn't know he and Dio were connected.''

''Apparently, they are. And louise saw the corpse in one of the gang's hideouts. Now, tell me, what would an outlaw do with a relic like that?''

''Hm, sell it, that's for sure.''

''And have you been doing business of this nature, mister Steel?''

He hesitated, almost as if trying to avoid choking with outrage at the question.

''Of course not!'' He answered promptly. ''Where are you going with this?''

''Just tell me, what other person would be interested in negotiating with a smuggler for the corpse?''

''You still don't have enough proof, Johnny, just making sense isn't enough in this situation, you know that. What about the others? Isn't Pocoloco a suspect too? What about Hot Pants and Wekapipo? What about the big corporations? What about the Vatican? They could all be behind this.''

''But wouldn't it be wise to try for the most obvious and closest? We know that you and Dio are quite close.'' Gyro said, almost teasingly. ''Look, we're not asking you to go and ask him anything. We just want some information, some time to come up with a plan and beat his ass!''

''For God's sake, I know you've been in Italy for two years, but have you lost your mind?!'' Stephen retorted, his voice raised but more frightened than angry. ''Diego is the governor! Not only does Manhattan belong to him, but the entire state of New York! Did you hear that right? New York! He has more influence in this region than the president himself.''

''Ah, yes, yes, of course, the new president.'' Gyro said in a dismissing gesture with his hands, leaning further back in his chair. ''You talk as if you didn't know about our capacity. Or have you forgotten that we've already taken care of...''

''Please, that's enough.'' Lucy intervened, impatient and still not touching her plate, fearing that the maids would overhear. Her voice was low and hoarse with anxiety, but she remained motionless, a figure carved out of marble, gilded by the candlelight. ''I understand the rush, that's why I called you two. But please, listen to Stephen. Things aren't the same anymore.''

''Right.'' Johnny obediently said. ''What did you have in mind, then, Stephen?''

There were no sounds in the room, apart from the humming and crackling of the peat in the fireplace. There was a brief movement from Stephen, no more than the twitch of his fingers against his leg, and then nothing more. The man remained seated, his head turned, staring at the fire in the living room as if searching for an answer.

Johnny and Gyro also remained seated, waiting. They could afford to wait. Finally, Stephen turned and faced them.

''I have a lot of employees, you know. Maybe they'll be of some use.''

''A spy, you mean?'' Johnny asked.

Lucy raised her head, looking astonished, but not that astonished. She seemed to have an almost permanent look of astonishment, so it was difficult to discern exactly what she was feeling in a conversation like this.

''That journalist...'' Lucy suggested. ''He's a good writer, he's the one who's doing your book, isn't he?''

Stephen looked at her, not quite understanding her reasoning.

''Oh, yes, why him?''

''What if you recommended him to Dio?''

''Recommend that Dio hires someone to write his biography, you say?'' He frowned, groped his chin and then returned to normal. ''It's not a bad idea, but Dio would only lie in his biography. It's not reliable information.''

''No, dear, I'm not telling you to get information from the book!'' She clarified. ''That would take months... I'm saying that he could observe Dio's routine and, of course, visit him all the time. See the places he goes, where he works...''

''Let me get this straight... I'm supposed to use young Joe as a spy? If something goes wrong, we'd lose a very good writer and two very good biographies. But that's not the worst of the problems...''

''It seems better than nothing.'' Gyro said. ''But no better than me and Johnny going there and putting an end to all this once and for all.''

''Gyro, forget it.'' Johnny scolded him. ''Let's use our heads a bit. Why wouldn't it be a good idea to use your writer, Stephen? Are you saying he'd be in too much danger?''

''That's not it.'' He explained. ''Young Joe's problem is much more diplomatic and personal, but if the knowledge of it fell into Dio's hands... the boy would be ruined.''

''I don't understand.'' Lucy said. ''What's wrong with him?''

''Joe is a good boy, yes. He could be a great help. But... ah, damn it.'' Stephen said, nibbling on his chicken hesitantly. ''You see, this could take a while, as Joe is in danger of getting involved in some scandals. The fool is a communist. But neither the Republicans nor the Democrats know that, and he works for both, but they're starting to get suspicious and... well, the way Dio is, it won't be long before he takes advantage of something like this.''

''Don't you have anyone who isn't easily threatened?'' Gyro questioned, somewhat frustrated.

''Even I don't fit that requirement, mister Zeppeli. Dio is very different. More influential.'' He stopped eating, serious, to face him. ''When the race ended, I was preparing myself for the tsunami of accusations of negligence and then the millions I would lose in compensation, but... that didn't happen. No, not even half of the scandals were publicized, and the ones that were publicized I was able to easily keep quiet by donating to the families.''

''Did you manage to hide everything?'' Johnny asked.

''No, I didn't even try. It was never my intention to hide it... I intended to bear the consequences, because I knew that part of it was my fault. But I was afraid of what would become of me and Lucy in the future.'' He sighed. ''I didn't expect Dio to make it out alive either... you know what I mean. The damn train could have cut him in half, but the bastard somehow managed to get stuck in the middle of the tracks or slip away far enough to only suffer a few scratches and come out alive. He negotiated with the press with the little fortune he had left, as he was unable to compete for months and was practically anonymous. When he could walk, the first thing he did was reveal himself to me. He told me all the scandals that had been going on, threatened me horribly and... threatened Lucy in a much worse way. I'm not subservient enough for him to use me as a puppet, as you can see. But the time for carelessness is over. You killed someone important in broad daylight and the nation doesn't know about it either, thanks to Dio. Now, doing anything in daylight, anywhere, is suicide. I'm not trying to slow you down; on the contrary, I want Dio dead more than anyone. But my hatred is no greater than my love for this home. I can't let it all be destroyed; and when I do that, I'm looking out for Lucy's well-being and future.''

The current situation reminded you, in a way, of home. Here, you'd come away from the cold, damp filth of the road to the gleaming Steel's house, able to rest both mind and body for a few hours, to relax in the warmth, the conversation and the abundance of food. There, however, it wasn't quite like that; you remembered when you went out drinking at weekends, those oases of life and warmth in the desert of the loneliness of work and your empty house. You didn't understand why the current situation reminded you of that, because they aren't even similar.

Maybe it was the feeling.

The feeling was the same. The cold, strange feeling of displacement; that feeling of losing some valuable part of yourself that couldn't survive the next morning. For a second, you felt jealous of him and Lucy. Envious of that mutual affection, and something inside you said that Johnny and Gyro shared that envy, but you reserved yourself to just listening to the conversation about the poor writer about to be sentenced. Gyro seemed to have finally understood that the current circ*mstances involved more diplomatic approaches than simply assassinating important politicians and almost dying in the process, so the conversation was mainly reserved for Stephen and Johnny.

''Communist, you say? And what's he doing writing about bourgeois life?'' You asked at one point, curious about the journalist.

''Making a living, working.'' Stephen answered simply, but also curious about you. ''Why the question, miss?''

''Oh, nothing. I'm just surprised that you sympathize with communists.''

''I sympathize with Joe, not with communists. Actually, I don't mind as long as they don't interfere with my work.'' Stephen sipped his champagne, looking at everyone at the table. ''I hope we share that mentality.''

''I've never met a communist in my life.'' Gyro commented indifferently. ''I didn't know there really were people stupid enough.''

''Do you even know what communism is?'' Somewhat indignantly, you questioned, and no one paid you any attention apart from Louise's amused glance.

''I didn't know you were a communist, Lady Loboutin.'' She said, seemingly intent on finding something hilarious in the idea; you had seen her biting the inside of her cheeks as she listened to you speak, and the smile she had disguised was now on her face.

Taken by surprise, you needed a few seconds to say something without stuttering.

''Don't put words in my mouth.'' You said, trying to sound good-humored.

Even though you weren't totally radicalized, you remember at least being politicized. Although at university you only went to the archaeologists', geologists' and paleontologists' building, you always crossed paths with historians and their students. Among them, many of your friends.

Every Wednesday, in those simple years, even when you started working on a research project on the Mesozoic era, you would wake up earlier than usual and at around five in the morning, together with sleepy-looking boys and girls, some with work uniforms and books under their arms, you would enter - one by one, so as not to arouse suspicion - the house that served as a refuge, wherecamaradaYudel lived. As a university honored byKennedy'swife, it was to be expected that communist espionage would not be welcome -that is, Russian, Latin or Chinese students and educators.

At 6am in the morning, in the back shack, a communist morality lesson began, given by a leader who lived underground, comrade Chris, who later returned to legal life with his baptismal name, not his wartime name, and his real profession: Alexei Jankowski, a journalist.

He was relatively young for the position he held - no more than fifty, but he had served in the Red Army in the Second World War - and was a member of the regional committee. His short black hair was parted on the side, his sport shirt was very well washed and ironed, and he was very eloquent. Some mornings, he would simply read the book Red Star aloud to the group, and he would conclude at 8am, also religiously, with maxims like:

''Have no doubt, comrades, in a reprisal we will be the first targets and perhaps the first killed. But our ideals are eternal. Only communists go to heaven, and you can confirm that up there, when you look for Nixon and find Allende.''

''So you're a sympathizer, miss?'' Stephen asked with a certain air of defiance, but a glint of admiration in his eyes. With great tact, however, he knew the right time to change the subject to the more neutral field of personal questions. ''May I ask where and what exactly you studied?''

''Georgetown University.'' You answered, without lying and without beating about the bush, because you were sure it existed at this time. ''I lived with historians, geologists, archaeologists, paleontologists... I must say that some of them were communists.''

''Paletologists? What's that?'' Lucy asked, rarely intervening in the conversation at the table.

''People who study dinosaurs. Giant lizards, you know?''

''Oh, they exist, then? Stephen Steel, twenty years younger, would be very happy about that.'' Stephen said, laughing at himself. ''Maybe some other time I'll tell that story. I need to tell it to young Joe anyway.''

''They certainly do.'' Gyro answered before you, with a suspicious dose of humor. ''Be thankful you didn't find them.''

You found that sentence strange, but refrained from any comments. Whatever Gyro meant, it wasn't something you could understand, as you saw him immediately look at Johnny as one would look at a friend to see if he understood an inside joke. What intrigued you, however, was that Johnny had also made strange comments about dinosaurs. You thought you'd ask them about it some day. Some day.

''Georgetown...'' Stephen muttered after a while, thinking. ''I don't remember any university with that name near here. You've come a long way, I suppose.''

''Yes.'' You answered, also simply and without lying. "We're from Washington.''

''Ah, Washington!'' He said, as if everything now made sense in his head. ''Now I understand, Washington universities are known for accepting women, right? But it still puzzles me that you... Louise, isn't it? It still puzzles me that you chose to work in advertising. I've never seen a woman in this field, and I never thought I would. Tell me, where have you worked?''

''Ah... well... I used to work for the Speedwagon Foundation.'' She said simply, and you didn't even blink, staring at your plate. ''An oil company, you know. It was a sponsor of the Steel Ball Run, wasn't it?''

For God's sake, don't say another word.You thought.

''Hm, yes, of course... but I don't understand, were you part of the publicity team? Why would an oil company need advertising?''

''I wasn't in advertising, no... I was in another area, which also involves communication. Human resources. I managed company relations, employees and complaints.''

''Interesting. I'm not impressed that Robert invests in this kind of department.'' He observed, smiling. ''He's quite... diplomatic. A man who cares about social relations, am I right?''

''Ha... yeah.''

You sighed, relieved that you weren't linked to the Speedwagon Foundation. You never overestimated Louise's ability to lie, but, dear God, she could have said any other company, you thought as that name repeated itself in your mind.Robert...

Then you remembered, very vaguely, an old painting in the reception area of the building that greeted you every day.Robert E. O. Speedwagon. A strong man, in the painting he looked to be in his fifties, perhaps a little younger than Stephen; but you didn't know when that portrait was made, or how old he would be now. But it seems that Stephen knows the man and a simple exchange of letters could be enough to bring Louise's story to its knees. After all, there was no problem being linked with the Speedwagon Foundation if Stephen trusted you enough; but how the hell are you going to know if Robert Speedwagon would be interested in investing in a human relations department in his company before any strikes or labor rights claims?

It was too much to think about now, and Johnny seemed to have picked up on his and Louise's tension, as he quickly asked Stephen something on the side, easily distracted by the champagne glasses. But he quickly returned his attention to Louise. He seemed more than fascinated, which raised a degree of suspicion.

From what little you knew of him, you knew he was a great promoter and journalist. Great. It was hardly surprising that Louise's background was, at the very least, extremely interesting to him. So he smiled and tilted the rim of the glass in her direction, then brought it to his lips and took a sip.

"I imagine it's very tiring, I must say.'' He reinforced, ending his conversation with Johnny too soon and putting down his glass. "You know, ladies...'' He said, giving you both a slight nod. ''I have the opportunity to make an exceptional investment in a new wine establishment in New York. But the task of evaluating the venture is not such that I would feel comfortable entrusting it to a subordinate; I would need to see the facilities myself and supervise their development. The task would require several weeks.''

He gazed thoughtfully into the glass, gently swirling the softly yellowed, fragrant liquid so that its scent covered the table. You hadn't drunk more than a few small sips from your glass, but you were beginning to feel a little dizzy, more as a result of your growing anxiety than the drink.

''It's too good an opportunity to pass up.'' Stephen said. ''And there's a chance of several new contracts with wineries throughout the country; the products are French, excellent, but relatively rare here. My God, they'd sell among the elite like snow in summer!'' His shrewd blue eyes glittered a little more, with perhaps golden visions of power and wealth, then sparked as they looked at Louise. ''But...''

''But...'' Louise concluded for him. ''You can't leave your business here without someone to run it.''

''Intelligence, as well as charm. Congratulations, Gyro and Johnny.'' He tilted his well-groomed head in the direction of the two, who didn't seem to understand anything, one eyebrow arched in a sign of comical approval. ''I confess I'm a bit lost, not knowing how I should put it. Luckily, the shipment from this winery hasn't arrived on the mainland yet, so I have a few weeks to evaluate your performance, if you're willing to help me with that and prove your training.'' He said, placing the glass on the table with the air of a man who puts aside social frivolities in favor of serious business. ''What do you think? Are you good at accounting?''

''Ah, well, my department is human resources, but I've dealt with accounting, yes.'' She replied, still modest. ''I have a good head for administration in general.''

He hesitated for a moment, then smiled at Louise, with a peculiar wave of his hands.

''Knowing then that you, lady,'' He suggested, indicating Louise, ''have a great head for administration, I feel strongly inclined to consider your arrival as an answer to my prayers. Still, I think we'd better wait before making you a definite offer.''

That is, he'd better see how presentable you and she were, you thought cynically, but you smiled at him all the same. Your eyes met Louise's and one of your eyebrows rose. This was your day of luck and proposals, evidently. For a widow with no possessions and an archaeologist suspected of stealing the holy corpse, your services seemed to be in good demand.

Stephen Steel's offer was more than generous; in exchange for Louise's work helping the French branch of the wine business for the next few months, Stephen would not only pay her a salary, but would guarantee his house. In the meantime, Gyro and Johnny would be free to devise the most diplomatic means of recovering the corpse - lamenting that they could no longer simply kill a politician in broad daylight to do so - and you, well, you'd be there. Maybe helping Gyro and Johnny, however you do it.

''Not at all, not at all...'' Stephen said, when Johnny tried to protest against such generosity. He pressed the knife into the tender meat of the chicken, looking speculatively at you and Louise. ''A beautiful woman to host dinner parties is a great advantage in the wine business, my friends.''

Louise laughed, clearly having drunk more champagne than you.

''Of course. Not least because Johnny has no idea how much wine you can sell if you let the customers taste it first.''

Stephen shook his head decisively, agreeing with her.

''Yes, and it will be a great service to me if our publicist and her friend are willing to organize meetings and receive people. I've been planning this for a while, but I wouldn't ask Lucy to do it, I don't want to distract her or expose her to these kinds of people. Those socialites are disgusting, I imagine you already know that.''

The idea of hosting social gatherings for Stephen's social and business circle was actually a bit scary. Louise looked at you, her eyebrows raised questioningly, but you swallowed and smiled, nodding in assent. It was a good offer; if she felt competent to take on the running of this kind of business, the least you could do was help Lucy organize dinners and maybe learn a little French for lively conversations.

''Certainly.'' You muttered, but Stephen had already taken your agreement for granted and continued, his blue eyes fixed on Louise.

''If we consolidate this idea, I could try to find some kind of housing, in Manhattan perhaps. Don't get me wrong, you're completely welcome here, but it would be advantageous to have you in a zone that I refrain from entering. Besides... I imagine that this would be the most effective and least lethal method of approaching Dio. Well, less lethal and less risky.''

Lucy huffed in an elegant ladylike style, indicating what she thought of social gatherings involving wine and socialites. You'd have thought she was right, but Stephen and indirectly Louise ensured that the informal evenings were a great help in finding out what was going on in Manhattan and making valuable contacts around Dio Brando - and probably dealing with him as best they could before things got out of hand.

''Then leave (Y/N) and Louise in the vanguard, because if I see Dio's face again I won't be able to split my fist from it.'' Gyro commented, finishing his champagne.

Johnny smiled evasively, which made Stephen laugh and pick up his own glass. Everyone at the table had also been served a glass of water, to cleanse the palate between sips, and Stephen took one of these in his other hand.

''Well, a toast again!'' He exclaimed. ''To our partnership, friends.'' He raised his glass in salute, then ostentatiously passed it over the glass of water and brought it to his lips.

You observed this strange behavior with surprise, but refrained from questioning it too much. Now, at least, there was a roof over your head and the choice to trust Johnny and Gyro had proved very fruitful, for now they were only a few handshakes away from Dio Brando and eating at the same table as geomorphologist Lucy Steel. And at the same table as the killers of Funny Valentine and the promoter of the Steel Ball Run. A peculiar historical get-together, you thought.

Being the promoter of the Steel Ball Run and Lucy Steel's husband, you already imagined Stephen's correlation with Gyro, Johnny and Dio was much more than a convenience: the odds were that Lucy's letter announcing the disappearance of the corpse came alongside a letter from Diego to his affiliate Creed, demanding the same corpse; perhaps explaining the assignment you had received from Stephen. With a sudden admiration for the intricacies of the Ecclesiastes project networks, you raised your glass and drank to this partnership - and the new society with the Steels.

Louise and Stephen then sat down in the living room to discuss business and were soon hunched over sheets of paper covered in ink notes, evidently bills of lading and the dispatch of goods by sea. The large room reeked of tobacco, champagne fumes and roast chicken, and you began to feel slightly queasy again. Seeing that your presence wouldn't be needed for a while, you got up quietly and went out onto the porch.

From there, the view of the surrounding plains and woods was complete and unobstructed. You leaned your elbows on the fences, enjoying the sea breeze from a nearby beach and the soft scents of tar. It was still cold, but with your jacket wrapped tightly around your body, you were well warmed up.

You suddenly remembered the steamed mussels you had eaten one day at Sapore di Calapria and suddenly felt hungry again. The absurd contrasts of the travel seemed to keep you constantly aware of your digestion; if you didn't want to throw up, you were ravenously hungry. The thought of food led you to think about menus, which brought to mind the dinners and get-togethers Stephen had mentioned. Dinners, huh? It seemed like a strange way to start the task of recovering the corpse, but in reality you couldn't think of anything better to do to get closer to Dio.

At least, if you had Dio sitting at the table in front of you, you could keep an eye on him, you thought, smiling to yourself at the thought. But maybe that wouldn't be so pleasant after all.

Thinking about it reminded you of Joshua Creed and your smile disappeared. He had captured Louise, done horrible things to her and narrowly failed to do it to you; Gyro and Johnny rescued you. The memories of the dark hideout and Creed's dirty hands were still too fresh, and suddenly the wind seemed too cold, when you thought that these memories must be even more vivid for Louise.

You shivered, and not from the cold. You couldn't think about what happened to Louise without a shiver running down your spine. Darkly, you felt unable not to think that it was your fault; that it was you who should have suffered the consequences, not her. Louise was like you in every respect; a woman in a man's world; someone who supported her friend's plan more than slightly tinged with madness; someone who was tired of that place and that life. Worse still, she was what you were - a time traveler.

The only difference was that she was innocent.

You went back into the house, tired and chilled by the wind, to the comforting warmth of a bathtub upstairs, right next to the guest rooms. After a brief argument about who would bathe first, in which Louise was the first to give in, you and Gyro came to a favorable agreement.

Without haste, you did all the toileting that could be done with water, soap and a comb, which were the only implements you had at your disposal for grooming. If Stephen Steel was serious about hosting dinners with his elite friends, you could see that new clothes would only be the beginning.

The bathroom was simple, some elements you missed;toilets and showers being some of them.You were amazed when a little man opened the door, carrying two buckets of warm water, and poured them into a large, ornate iron bathtub, finishing filling it. You guessed it was an expensive model, perhaps inspired by the Victorians, and the little man nodded to ask permission and closed the door as he left the bathroom, giving you the privacy you missed so much.

You noticed that the wooden sink had a drawer to the side of the creams and perfumes drawer, with perfectly frayed lines of willow branches to clean your teeth with. You took one out of the box and set to work, pondering the incredible luck that had brought you there.

Unwilling to test Gyro's patience any further, you finally left, after stripping off your dirty, sweaty clothes in favor of a silk nightgown that one of the maids had laid out for you.

When you went downstairs, you found Gyro sitting by the fireplace, his eyes narrowed, his hands on his knees, as if he were thinking.

''Do you need something?'' You heard Lucy's sweet voice echo just behind him, reluctant.

''Ah, I'm fine.'' He said, with the strange sympathy of an old friend, then looked at you. ''I'm going to pray that she doesn't have all that time to wait for the water to evaporate on its own and take my bath.''

Ignoring that comment as you did most things Gyro said, you turned back to the bookcase in the living room. You asked Stephen if you could pick some up to read, and he politely allowed you to; he then showed a certain amount of enthusiasm when he saw that most of the books you were picking up were his own.

Louise had started yawning on the table and then excused herself upstairs to have a bath when Gyro had returned; the short man's frantic footsteps carrying buckets of heated water to only partially change the water in the bath were easily heard from upstairs. You stayed in the living room for a few more moments, chatting with Stepheen, and it was almost ten o'clock when you went up to your own room.

Louise used to go to bed early and wake up early; her soft breathing greeted you when you opened the bedroom door. She was an early sleeper and a deep sleeper too; you moved carefully around the guest room, hanging up your clothes and tidying your belongings, but there was no risk of waking her. The house fell silent as you tidied up, so that the murmur of your movements began to sound too loud to your ears. It was too dark for you to pay attention to your surroundings, so sometimes you bumped into something and made more noise than usual.

You removed the books last, one by one, placing them on the bed. Five bound volumes, shiny in their leather covers. Heavy, solid objects; five or six hundred pages each, apart from the tables of contents and illustrations. Three of them by the same author: Stephen Steel.

They were complete works by Lucy Steel's husband, half biographical, half narrative, half didactic. All about his life as the promoter of the biggest event of the century. Critics' praise covered the ears of the dust jacket, with comments from every renowned expert in the press. Not bad for someone who could die at any moment, you morbidly thought. An achievement to be proud of.Compact, solid, prideful. However, at a glance, none of them seemed to mention the runners directly. Perhaps it would be better to look in the morning.

You stacked the books carefully on the table next to your bed so as not to forget them. The titles on the spines were different, of course, but you stacked them so that the names ''Stephen Steel'' at the ends lined up evenly, one above the other - just as the words ''beyond'' also lined up. They glowed like a jewel in the small shaft of light formed by the candle on the bedside table.

The house was silent; it wasn't yet midnight, but you could hear Gyro's snores in the next room. In the other single bed, Louise's breathing made a slight noise and she turned over, letting long locks of red hair cover her sleeping face. A long, bare foot protruded from under the covers and you gently covered it.

The urge to touch a sleeping child or younger sibling never goes away, even if that younger sibling is much bigger than you. You removed her hair from her nose and mouth, fearing that she might suffocate in her sleep. Surprising you, she smiled in her sleep, a brief reflection of peace, undone almost as soon as it appeared. You, however, were unable to reciprocate this peaceful smile. You whispered into her sleep-deaf ears, as you had done so many times on this journey.

''I'm going to take us home.''

You swallowed to get rid of the knot in your throat. It had almost become a mantra by now. It was freezing cold in mid-October, but you weren't yet ready to seek the cozy sanctuary of your new bed.

Lucy Steel had assured you that the fire would go out soon, that there was no need to worry. You closed the bedroom door slowly, still watching the long limbs sprawled on the bed, the cascades of silky red hair spilling over the blue matelasse bedspread. Then you looked at your own reflection in the small mirror next to the door.

''Not bad either for someone who could die at any moment.'' You whispered into the dark corridor as you looked away from your own reflection. Maybe not so compact or solid, but absolutely prideful.

Chapter 21: What'll I Do

Chapter Text

A little over a week had passed and every day was dedicated to adapting to the routine of that time, whether it was bedtimes and wake-up times or when to start lighting the candles in the house.

The days were strangely quiet, a fact that was absolutely uncomfortable for someone who had just arrived in the last century and faced two shootings in less than twenty-four hours – and then witnessed a hanging.

You would expect that, at the very least, something absurd or dangerous would happen during those days, but no.Nothing out of the ordinary, you thought annoyedly as you tried to remember the important things of those last few days. The strangest thing, in fact, was finding out that Gyro might not be as sexist as you thought.

Nothing really important, nothing really fruitful for you to figure out a way to get back home. Maybe that's what bothered you so much, your hopelessly inert condition in this situation. But you could at least say that you were trying to figure something out, although you didn't know exactly what.

You had begun to realize, from listening to Stephen, Louise, Gyro and Johnny's conversations over the last few days, that that region and social circle were a big spider's web. There were several threads of social relationships through which a few large spiders – and several smaller ones – made their delicate way, always listening for the low buzz of distress from a fly that had crashed into the web, always testing a thinner thread, a broken connection.

The smaller entities slid cautiously along the edges of the web, always aware of the movements of the larger ones –because spiders are cannibals, just like ambitious men, you thought.

Stephen's position was prominent, secure enough to resist the damaging effects of rumor and suspicion. You and Louise had talked about it before, privately speculating; the break marks would soon be apparent, clear enough for anyone who knows what's coming; pressures and tensions would intensify, Stephen's health would deteriorate. He has a few years, or a few months, to live and you need to be quick.

If the pressure increased too much, too quickly, if the links between mister Steel and Governor Brando became too frayed... they could break, the sticky ends of the threads enveloping you and Louise in a cocoon suspended by a thread – alone and easy prey for those who want to suck your blood.

''You're morbid today.'' Louise said, puzzled by the images your mind had chosen and the words you had picked to describe the situation.

You were ready to go downstairs, but you shuddered when you realized you'd forgotten to change your clothes. Nightgowns and day dresses are hopelessly the same thing for you, but Johnny made a point of explaining it to you with shy glances.

When you forgot to change your clothes – as you were always used to getting out of bed and having breakfast in the same clothes you slept in – Johnny would stare excessively at your face, as if he was making a considerable effort to do so. At first, you imagined that nightgowns were more transparent, and the lack of a bra was perhaps a major complication in maintaining communication with Johnny without him immediately wanting to end the conversation.

When it was too cold to wear just a nightgown, you would choose a thicker dress – there was one, yellow, flowery, quite pretty, which was the most comfortable – and go downstairs to have some coffee. Then Johnny could speak two sentences without stuttering and seemed much more relieved not to have to maintain constant eye contact with you.

That is until on the third day, after you'd spent the whole of the previous day in your nightgown and were about to do it again, Louise warned you.

''(Y/N)... why don't you take off your nightie?'' Louise asked as she tied the ribbon of her dress around her waist. ''You look like those ghosts of dead children in horror movies.''

In fact, the nightgowns weren't low-cut or fitted like the dress Louise was wearing.

''And what's the difference? They can't see my knees, which are apparently the most vulgar parts of a woman's body here.''

''I guess here they don't do their daily chores in their nightclothes. There must be some reason, I don't know.''

''I hardly leave the house.'' You said, dropping the book on the bed. ''The only time they see me is at breakfast.''

''Hm, you have a point.''

''Did you do that too?''

''Do what?''

''Change as soon as you wake up. I've always done everything in the clothes I sleep in.''

''Me too. MyFlintstonesshirt has never seen the daylight, tho.''

So, although you weren't convinced of the importance of wearing different clothes during the day and night, you started wearing the day dresses that the servants had made available for you, fantasizing about going into town at some point to buy clothes to your liking – although those dresses were quite nice, but all Lucy's.

After changing, you took a deep breath and opened the door. Louise had already gone to see if the breakfast was ready and engaged in some conversation that made her forget to come back for you. The voices you heard were lost downstairs. Louise and Lucy, then Stephen. Gyro and Johnny didn't seem to have woken up yet and your mind was still in your bed, along with the book you had put away.

You started with the shortest of the ''beyonds'', The Transcontinental Race and the Exploration of the American Spirit, imagining that some useful information would come out of those pages.

Well, information, yes. Useful? Maybe. The book began with a brief history of Stephen Steel's career in politics and the media. From journalist to promoter of shareholder events. Then there were technical and strategic details about the planning of the race and all the crises generated by the lack of structure and the fact that they never set a limit on the number of participants.

It was an annoying habit of yours to always peek at the last few pages of a book before finishing it, and this one was no different. Out of 3854 participants, only 39 were left in the final stage. The overwhelming majority dropped out of the race or were eliminated for some reason, but there was an estimate that more than 100 participants died along the way, and the last pages were dedicated to paying tribute to each man and each woman who died, with empathetic and nostalgic maxims written by Stephen Steel himself, in his own handwriting, as if it were a direct letter to the relatives.

''Dear readers,

At the conclusion of this book, I feel compelled to express my deepest gratitude and respect to those who took part in the historic Steel Ball Run. The race, which began as an audacious dream, became an epic journey of courage, determination and sacrifice. Through arid deserts, treacherous mountains and unforgiving rivers, we witnessed the human capacity to persevere in the face of the most terrible adversity.

However, it is with a heavy heart that I recognize the cost of this monumental adventure. More than a hundred brave souls lost their lives along the way. Each of them, with their own unique story and dreams, made an invaluable contribution to the greatness of this event.

To those who have gone, I dedicate the following pages. May their memories be forever remembered and their sacrifices never forgotten. This tribute is a celebration of their lives and a tribute to the legacy they left behind. In every drop of sweat, in every step taken, in every moment of overcoming, they will live forever in the annals of history.

With deep respect and admiration,

Stephen Steel''

You sighed and closed the book, not willing to read every name, but maybe you'd take the time to look up someone you had heard of. Or maybe you would ask Gyro and Johnny, if they were willing to explain. But not now. Now, you wondered what Louise was doing downstairs, since the kitchen seemed too quiet.

The main distraction in that house was sometimes watching the conflict of qualifications between Stephen and Louise. You knew from long experience that the need to please was one of the main components of Louise's character, just as Stephen's stubbornness was.

Having had the opportunity to watch Louise work closely for a long time, you had your own opinion of the partnership, but you kept quiet, only occasionally enjoying the spectacle of Stephen having, for once, found someone to compare with himself. He seemed tormented and relieved at the same time, as if you'd woken up and found a clone of yourself with the same abilities as you to share the weight on your shoulders.

You understood very little of the conversation. They were talking about wine, for sure. As an event promoter, the best thing Stephen could do was become an investor in alcoholic beverage exporters; this would guarantee him lots and lots of French wine at an absurdly cheap price and a bonus of advantageous political and economic connections. But sometimes, when dealing with European exporters, it's easy to have a miscommunication, and this time the client was confusing Stephen's qualifications.

''What does he think I am? An advisor?'' That's what you heard him say.

This stalemate between irremovable object and immoveable force went on for quite some time, and you weren't willing to be part of the audience, so you simply went back to your room and decided to start the tedious but much more interesting task of looking up some familiar name on the Steel Ball Run fatality list.

''I'm in dire straits, I believe.'' He said. "This client is French, he knows absolutely nothing about the American soil and he trusts me to find a good place to establish his winery. I'm not in agriculture, let alone winemaking. How the hell am I supposed to do that?''

''Why don't you hire someone who knows? It says here that he just wants a good location, away from competition and with a more fertile soil than France, at least. Some specialist grape grower must know somewhere, right?'' Louise suggested.

''That's exactly what I thought and what I did, and look at that.''

Stephen handed her a sheet of paper. As well as a letter, Louise held a rather rustic printout of what looked like a research report - very similar to the surveys carried out by the Census Bureau – indicating on a map of forty-six states only California and Oregon.

''Wine regions...'' She read. ''But the other French and Italian businesses are in that region, it wouldn't be smart to start a winery near the big ones.''

''And worse, on the west coast.'' He added. ''What kind of administrative support and participation, as well as supervision, can I provide on the other side of America? Other investors would steal it from me like rats in a pantry.''

''And why on earth would he want to start a winery here? Don't they already make enough money from exporting?''

''French people are stupid.'' He grumbled, getting up from his chair and pacing back and forth. ''This one, in particular, is stupid and greedy. My job is diplomatic, I'm an event promoter, and these events need to be washed down with alcohol! I'm in danger of losing my best partner. After that, I'll only have whisky and champagne to give away. Whiskey is too strong for Americans, champagne is too expensive to support these events. Wine is a divine treasure, a gift from God to the suffering and a trump card for event organizers.''

''If he wants to open a winery so badly, then let him.'' Louise said. ''But somewhere close enough to you.''

''But what if the soil isn't good? We'll lose money and time.''

''It's not possible that only the west coast is good for growing grapes.'' She said in disbelief. ''That researcher you hired didn't even say anything else! Here it shows where the vineyards are open, not where the climate and soil are good for planting!''

''Anyway, they've found the best soil and it's already occupied. There's not much we can do, but I still want to think about it. If you have any suggestions, I'm very willing to listen.''

''Hm... an immediate suggestion I don't have... but I can think about it for you. I'm not a farmer either, but I have a lot more time to research this than you do.''

Louise didn't wait long after Stephen had finished his breakfast and went to see if the carriage was ready. She watched as Stephen climbed into the comfortable seat inside the cab and drove off; wondering where Stephen worked and what kind of job he had. As far as she had gathered information, he was a columnist for an extremely popular newspaper, an event promoter, an investor and maintained rather questionable partnerships with ministers and other politicians - often, the events he promoted had the sole and exclusive function of bringing together all these rich old white men to discuss business, meet new rich old white men and open up yet another slimy and dangerous web of new partnerships.

That's when the bedroom door opened without anyone knocking first, and as you'd imagine, Louise entered the room without taking the time to get some air before starting to say everything you didn't hear when you chose to go back into the room.

''Breathe, Louise.'' You said, a little sleepy from not having had breakfast. ''And what do you intend to do? Doing research here isn't like in Washington, you know...''

''I'm not going to waste time relearning how to research things.'' She huffed, finally closing the door after so much talking. ''But I need help.''

''Why don't you ask Gyro and Johnny to take you into town? There must be a library, I don't know.''

''No, hell no.'' She grimaced, crossing her arms in a strange defense. ''Never. Besides, this is going to take a while. I want to have something to give Stephen when he gets back.''

''And how the hell do you want to do that? There's some database deep in your brain and you're trying to figure out the password?''

''Almost... but that database isn't in my brain, it's in front of me.''

You raised your eyebrows and thought you were going to laugh, but then you realized that you didn't know anything really useful to help her.

''I used to work in geomorphology, but to extract oil and look for corpses, not to plant grapes.''

''I know, but listen... I remember you said that there's a region full of dead shrimp that influences the country's economy.'' She said, sitting up in bed. ''You told me that when we were hiking in Anacostia a few months ago, remember?''

''Ah, Western Interior Seaway.'' You said, with a sense of anxious nostalgia. ''Yes, of course I remember. I spent six months studying about it at college.''

''So that's great. Do you remember which regions they were? I remember that some regions are on the east coast, aren't they? That's exactly what we need. A place for a stingy Frenchman to plant his French grapes in good, close, American soil.''

''I see. But wait... Doesn't Stephen only work with imports?''

''Yes, but you know, nobody follows a script, I used to see this sort of thing happening at the Speedwagon Foundation all the time.'' She shrugged. ''But this is a chance to prove something useful, because I don't know anything about advertising that isn't from our time! If you suggest something like this, with a super elaborate and intelligent scientific explanation, he'll see that we have potential!''

''Of course we have potential.'' You said, somewhat bored. ''I just don't understand why you're so invested in this.''

''Because it's a chance for us to be useful beyond helping Lucy water the plants.'' She explained. ''Come on, (Y/N), I know you. I know you want to look useful, have some work too.''

''Right... but why doesn't he ask a farmer for a opinion?''

''Because he's already done that. The client wants an isolated place, with no competition, but with good soil. And the guy who brought the survey only showed places that already have huge wineries.''

''Oh... and you want me to talk about this region, which doesn't have any wineries yet?''

''Exactly. You said it has good soil because of some shrimp that died there, right?''

''Yes, good soil for cotton. This region is used for growing cotton and corn.''

''Well, we don't drink cotton or corn, so they're not competitors. What do you suggest?''

''I'm not very good at geography, but if I had to guess, I'd suggest North Carolina. I don't think it's a very commercial region, I don't have much information about it, but... it's something.''

''Yes, it is something.'' She said. ''And something is much better than nothing! Thank you, (Y/N)!''

''If you want me to talk to him so you don't have to explain all this boring stuff, we can talk at dinner.''

''Yes, yes, of course.'' She sighed with relief. ''And what have you been up to? Have you discovered anything new with the books?''

''Oh, it depends.''

''What do you mean?''

''Something new? Definitely. Something useful? I'm not sure.'' You snorted, sitting down on the bed next to her. ''Did you know that Stephen worked in a circus, used to be a boxer and traveled to Costa Rica in search of dinosaurs?''

''Holy sh*t! How old is he?''

''He hasn't turned sixty yet. Also, according to the book, the idea for the Steel Ball Run was Lucy's when she was eight.''

''So he knew her when she was a child?''

''Apparently so. He had been fired, was drunk in the street, crying, when a little girl came up and consoled him. They chatted and she gave him an idea about a huge race when she found out he was a failed event promoter.''

''That's... lovely. I didn't know Stephen was so... harmless.''

And the day passed, like all the others, completely monotonously, inside the study room. You didn't know what the others were doing, but you guessed that Gyro and Johnny weren't at home, judging by the silence that was abruptly killed by Stephen's arrival. You only left the little room to go to the bathroom outside; you didn't have a lunch, you didn't do anything. You just read and watched Lucy, who was being tutored by one of the short men you always saw wandering around outside and on the second floor.

You didn't notice when dinner was ready, you didn't even notice when the carriage boy left and you didn't notice when Vionnet started walking around the house lighting all the candles. You only realized for a brief moment that it was time to come out of hiding when Louise opened the door and hissed for you to follow her to the dining table. From the smell of it, dinner was fish and a few other things.

''Mister Steel.'' Louise announced confidently before sitting down. ''Remember I said I was going to look for some suggestions as to what you could do about the wineries?''

''Yes, of course.'' He said, briefly surprised by the call, but then sat down in his usual place, next to Lucy.

''I talked to (Y/N) about it and she told me something really intriguing.'' She said, looking at you. ''Come on, lady Louboutin, tell us!''

''Oh, right... this is all just my suggestion, there's no confirmation that it will work, but...''

''Any suggestion is welcome in my current situation, miss, go ahead.''

Then you sniffled, making sure your glass of wine was available in case of any choking.

''Right, listen, it's been a few years. When I was at university, my research group was assigned to study the fossil of an ancient shark. It belonged to the genusPtyochodus, which means fold teeth in Greek. Its teeth were designed to crush shells rather than flesh...'' You shook your head, dismissing this information. You had spent so many months working on this research that the presentation was automatic and almost machinelike. ''But that doesn't matter, so be it. The most important detail is that this fossil was found in Kansas, as were all the specimens of this genus of shark.''

No reaction was immediately triggered by the information, until Johnny raised his eyebrows, like a student who first realized the question before the teacher explained it. Now you understood a little how Thomas felt.

''Kansas? But that's in the center of the country. Unless there are river sharks, it shouldn't be there.''

''Exactly, Johnny, it shouldn't have been, but it was. Just like many other ancient sea creatures, now extinct. I'll be very brief. A few million years ago, and I mean three hundred million years ago, there was just one continent calledPangea. The Americas, Europe, Asia, Africa and Oceania were all brought together as a single continental mass, but with the passage of time, the movements of tectonic plates separated this continent into several portions and...''

''Where are you going with this, (Y/N)?'' Gyro interrupted you. ''No one told me you'd be teaching during dinner. If I'd known, I'd have gone to bed.''

You frowned, ready to answer, but Stephen thought it appropriate to avoid any disagreements over the table.

''Please, mister Zeppeli, let her finish.'' He said, and you smiled shyly. ''We can't deny that it's an interesting subject, but I don't understand what it has to do with my client's winery.''

''I'll get to it, mister Steel, I promise.'' You snorted, completely forgetting about the existence of your plate of food, focusing only on your glass of wine. ''Colorado and Wyoming didn't even exist a few million years ago, both were submerged, as was part of Texas. The United States, erroneously so-called, was divided by an inland sea.Western Interior Seaway. That was in the upper Cretaceous period, when we already had dinosaurs and sharks.''

''Oh, so sharks are dinosaurs?'' Lucy asked, puzzled. ''I mean, if they existed at the same time...''

''Yes and no. There are sharks that were born before the settlers came here and are still alive, but they are abyssal species. So, yes, depending on what you consider dinosaurs, sharks are.'' You explained, and she smiled and nodded, allowing you to continue. ''There were two patches of land,LaramidiaandAppalachia.''

''Like the mountains?'' Johnny asked.

''Exactly, that same region. If I had a map... maybe a pre-history book, I could show you... but I'm giving you a brief explanation.'' You sipped your wine, glancing briefly at Gyro, who only seemed to be pretending to be bored. ''This side, Appalachia, is exactly where Mississippi, Kansas, Tennessee and many other states are. But there was a specific area, southern Appalachia, where a small crustacean called krill migrated and many, and I mean many, died on that coast. Southern Appalachia was a point in their life cycle and it was so for many millions of years, and all those dead krill accumulated a lot of organic matter and other sediments in that soil. Periods passed, the continent united, but this organic matter continued to make the soil fertile and will continue to do so for centuries to come. So, mister Steel, if you consider my humble opinion as an archaeologist, I would recommend North Carolina, which used to be part of southern Appalachia and, correct me if I'm wrong, there aren't many winery businesses in that region, only small settler farms. That's what you and your client wanted, right? Fertile land and little competition.''

''Well...'' He scratched his chin, thinking. ''Yes, indeed, but... forgive me, but that sounds too crazy even for me. I mean, do you have any proof of that? There was a sea in the middle of our continent, so the soil there is fertile?''

''In short, yes. The soil in this region is more fertile because of the organic matter from the krill that died on the south coast of Appalachia. You don't have to take my word for it, just do a little research on marine fossils found in Kansas and you'll see for yourself. If I'm not mistaken, an elasmosaur was found in Kansas. Also... look for a map showing the main cotton exporting points and you'll see for yourself that the main cotton exporting states are the ones with the best soil and, therefore, the ones that were part of that prehistoric southern coast.''

''I'll do that, yes... but I'm still incredulous and skeptical, I must say. Pangea? Laramidia? Appalachia? Why have I never heard of these things?''

''Even nowadays, information doesn't spread so... ah... fast. These kinds of discussions are more exclusive to academic circles.''

''You must have a great memory.'' Lucy added, impressed. ''I could never remember those difficult names, nor how long ago something happened.''

''Never say never, Lucy. Maybe you have a feel for something you don't know yet.''

You knew you had to be careful, even with a glass of wine in your hand, when talking to Stephen or around the maids, ignorant of your condition. Only information that you were sure was old enough came out of your mouth and everything else you knew was just distant echoes in your head, never exposed. Louise seemed to follow the same principles, but in a more natural and less strict way, so she gave you no reason to worry – at least not in that aspect.

In 1976, you were already considered too progressive a woman;in 1892, you were an absolute anomaly, an intruder, and you had to adapt to this environment.

And you were doing relatively well, in your own opinion and in the opinion of Johnny too, who was always willing to support your mask as an ordinary 19th century woman. You couldn't say you weren't grateful, as much as the feeling of not being in complete control of who you are to others was extremely uncomfortable.

But Johnny was a good person, you knew that. A good man, someone easy to talk to when you're a woman –maybe that's why he was closer to Lucy than Gyro, you thought – and also a great advisor. On some mornings, when everyone woke up too early and had to wait for the breakfast to be ready, you would always find Johnny watching the stillness of the plains from the front porch, his elbows resting on the fence. You and Louise always sat on the steps and Lucy had put a chair there for her, which remained in the same place every day, as if waiting for the same morning ritual.

''I can hardly see anything around here.'' Johnny commented from the porch, observing the landscape. ''Why did you choose to isolate yourself so much, Lucy?''

''For safety's sake. But I intended to bring some animals to keep me company.''

''Safety? Your husband's away all day and you're in the house with the maids, that doesn't sound very safe.''

''Oh, we're not totally isolated, you know.'' She replied, a little embarrassed, but happy. ''We have neighbors.''

''Really? Where?''

''On the way to town. Madame Argentan lives not far away with her young son, her husband and her servants. Every week a messenger knocks on our door, so we can communicate without having to leave the house.''

''Hm... So you get on well with the neighbors now?''

''Yes...'' She snorted. ''I guess so. Madame Argentan is a bit... different. But she's not rude and she's pregnant, so she's not as interested in my life as the ladies in Manhattan, who used to watch me through the windows all day.''

''Oh, I understand, Lucy.'' Louise sympathetically butted in. ''But it's too isolated here. You still intend to bring animals, don't you?''

''Ah, well... now that you're here, I won't feel so alone anymore. So I'm not sure.''

''So you don't have any animals?''

''I have Ichiko, didn't I show her to you?'' She leaned on the porch beside him. ''It's my mare.''

''Oh, so you ride?'' Johnny asked.

''Eh... not much... Not really. I just visit her, give her carrots and comb her when I've finished studying.''

''So what do you do all day?'' He continued to ask; if he were less handsome and his voice less friendly, he would sound insensitive. But it was Johnny asking, and his accent made every word that came out of his mouth sweet. ''Do you just study, comb your horse and wait for your husband?''

''I also take care of the garden and feed the birds.'' She said innocently. ''I also like to knit. I'm making a scarf for Stephen.''

''How sweet... I envy you. At your age I was pulling out and eating my own hair because of my grades at school.'' Louise said humorously.

She laughed, her face blooming like a spring flower, her squirrelly incisor teeth sweetly exposed and a few freckles appearing on her sensitive skin.

''You don't talk much about yourselves...'' She said, glancing briefly at you. ''I understand that your situation doesn't allow it, but... we're alone. What's different about the future? This idea still seems crazy to me, but in a good way.''

''You're right.'' Louise said, leaning sideways on the steps to get a better look at her. Johnny suddenly seemed to pay attention as well. ''When you get curious about it, ask something like... Louise, or (Y/N), as it was in Washington?''

Her eyes lit up with understanding.

''Alright!'' She nodded. ''Louise and (Y/N)... how did you live in Washington?''

''That's right.'' Louise approved. ''It was a quiet life for me. I had my apartment, my job, my boyfriend...''

''Oh, boyfriend?''

''Yes, boyfriend. His name was Luca.'' She was smiling, but something in the cadence of her voice sounded melancholy. ''He was Italian, like Gyro, but a culinary chef. He owned a restaurant next door to the building where (Y/N) and I worked.''

''Sounds comfortable... getting off work and eating your boyfriend's food.'' She commented, indifferent or simply not realizing the sadness behind Louise's words. ''What about you, (Y/N)?''

You shook your head at her, surprised by the sudden attention. You'd been staring at the grass the whole time, distracted, distant.

''Me? Well, nothing much different. I had my house, my job... and no boyfriend. Not an official one.''

''Not an official one? What do you mean?''

You took a deep breath, preparing yourself to try and find some non-scandalous explanation for your extra-marital civil status.

''Neither he nor I were ready to admit that we had something... but we did meet up from time to time.''

''Oh, I'm sorry, it must be hard for both of you to stay away from them.''

''It's difficult for me, yes.'' Louise said. ''But if (Y/N) says she misses that piece of sh*t, I'll hit her.''

''I know...'' You let out a breath through your nose, sounding like a frustrated giggle. ''I don't miss him at all, but I do missStar Trek.''

''I didn't know you liked cartoons.''

''Not much, but I like spaceships.''

''Oh, what's that?'' Lucy asked.

And so most of the conversations went on. Normal, relaxing ones, punctuated by the great thrill of explaining to them from time to time what spaceships, televisions, computers and Louboutins are. For a week, you'd almost established a partial routine: every morning, knowing that Louise would be in the kitchen with the maids, Gyro and Johnny with Stephen to look up information and discuss things in the town and all the maids busy at their own tasks, you'd ponder the house without any frivolous twentieth-century entertainment and sometimes go out into the garden to find Lucy and talk to her.

Lucy was a sweet girl, curious about everything and a great admirer of the bucolic nature of life; willing to spend hours just watching the birds eating the fruit she methodically chopped into cute shapes for them. Sometimes Johnny didn't accompany Stephen and Gyro slept late, so the conversations on the porch went on and on.

''Ah, but I don't know if I want to keep chickens... I don't want to have to eat them, poor things.'' Lucy had said when Louise, not for the first time, had suggested bringing animals into the place.

''But you ate one yesterday.'' You said, mockingly.

''It's different!'' She defended herself, bewildered. ''I still feel bad about it, but I didn't raise that chicken, I didn't name it and I didn't even see it hatch its eggs! It's too cruel to eat them.''

''But you don't have to kill them.'' Johnny suggested. ''Just eat the eggs, and the chickens will live.''

''But wouldn't I be killing their babies?''

''Not all eggs have chicks inside.'' He explained. ''Actually, most don't.''

''Hm... I feel better knowing that. But I still have to think... what if we have guests and Margaret decides to make roast chicken? Even if it's a town chicken... they'll smell it!''

''She has a point.'' Louise shrugged.

Some days, in the tedious afternoons, you would wander around the house and garden looking for something to do, usually when Lucy disappeared from your sight.

Your favorite place in the house was already established: Lucy's study room. Sometimes, when the little man in charge of teaching Lucy left the blackboard blank and forgot the chalks, you would take them and do some drawing and note-taking to kill the boredom. You wrote down memorized quotes from college, as well as a few verses from the Bible. You'd never been much of a Christian, but the Ecclesiastes project and Thomas forced you to read hundreds of Vatican dispatches, personal and formal, which every now and then kept a certain language encoded in verses. You remembered some of them well.

You wandered around the little room, watching the birds through the glass and admiring a particularly abstract artistic portrait you'd made of David Bowie on the blackboard, with a few songs scattered around the corners like Rebel Rebel and Lady Stardust. Then, absent-mindedly, you stumbled across something light and delicate. It was Lucy's knitting material.

You were definitely not in the mood for knitting.

The basket was full of balls of yarn in wool and linen. Some, Lucy had made, others, you just rolled up and organized by color. The difference was clear, but even the strange, knotted threads that you hadn't sorted could be used for something. Not for socks or shirts. Perhaps you could try knitting a cover for the aluminum kettle – one that didn't have a very defined shape so that you could disguise all your mistakes.

Gyro was shocked and also amused to discover that you didn't know how to knit. The issue never seemed to come up in Naples, where his mother and sisters kept everyone in knitted clothes. You never had to do anything with needles.

''You don't know how to knit?'' He asked in disbelief. ''And how did you get your socks in the winter in Washington?''

''I used to buy them.'' You said.

He had peered around the plain through the glass of the door, sitting in the armchair in the study room, admiring the outside.

''Since I don't see any stores nearby, I think you'd better learn, right?''

''I think so.''

You looked suspiciously at Lucy's knitting basket. It was well equipped, with three long, circular needles of different sizes and a set of four double-pointed ivory needles, thin as stilettos, which you knew were used in some mysterious way to turn the heels of socks.

''I'll ask Lucy to teach me, but not now. I have other things on my mind.''

Gyro laughed and took a needle and a ball of yarn from there.

''It's not that difficult,bella. Look... this is how you do it.'' Slipping the thread inside his closed fist, he turned his thumb around, threaded it onto the needle and, with a restrained movement, made a long row of stitches in a matter of seconds. Then he handed you the other needle and another ball of yarn. ''Like this... try it.''

You looked at him in surprise.

''Youknow how to knit?''

''Of course I know.'' He replied, looking at you in confusion. ''I've been working with needles since I was a child. Didn't they teach children anything in your time?''

''Well...'' You said, feeling a bit foolish. ''Girls were rarely taught to knit, but boys weren't.''

''And they didn't teach you, right? Besides, it's not fancy knitting,it's very simple. Look, run your thumb along here, like this...''

So he taught you the basics of knitting, explaining, between giggles at seeing your efforts, that in Naples all the boys learned to knit, because it's a useful occupation and quite suitable for several hours of idleness letting the doughs rest, herding sheep in the fields or simply waiting for dinner.

''When a man has a wife to look after, he doesn't need to make his socks anymore. I'm only doing this because I don't have a wife yet, of course.'' He said, turning on its heel before handing the sock back to you. ''But even boys can knit.''

''Of course you don't have a wife.'' You muttered, mockingly.

''Huh? What did you say?''

''Nothing.''

You looked at your current project, about twenty-five centimeters of a wool shawl, which lay in a small crumpled heap at the bottom of the basket. You had learn the basics, but knitting for you was still a struggle with knotted yarn and slippery needles, not the peaceful, beautiful exercise that Lucy and Gyro made it seem, fiddling with the needles in front of the landscape of the plains, as soothing as the sound of crickets in the dirt.

Not today, you thought. You weren't interested.Something you didn't have to think about, like rolling up the balls of yarn. You could do that. You put aside an unfinished pair of socks that Gyro was making – striped in green and purple, that braggart – and picked up a roll of blue wool.

You discovered that you liked the specific smell of fresh wool, the light perfume of sheep, the strong scent of true indigo and the strong odor of the vinegar used to set the paint. The afternoon seemed very cold, all the more so because of the smoke and wax from the candles and also because of the pleasant smells from the kitchen.

You left the ball of yarn on your lap and closed your eyes for a moment. All you wanted to do was get undressed and take a sponge bath with hot water, then lie naked between the clean linen sheets of your bed and read a book, letting the cold air through the open window blow across your face as you fell asleep.

Other mornings, when by some divine miracle Gyro decided to wake up at the same time as everyone else, breakfasts were friendlier and accompanied by conversations on a variety of subjects, often involving your old life. Lucy didn't eat breakfast so early, as she said she would get nauseous if she ate without preparing, so she was always in the garden and the maids were busy in the kitchen.

This time, still in the bedroom, Louise raised her arms in front of the mirror and complained about her armpits.

''Dear lord, I look like an orangutan.''

''I thought you didn't care.'' You said absent-mindedly as you leafed through one of Stephen's books, not reading many lines. ''You're ginger, they can hardly see the hair.''

''I'm ginger, so I'm closer to my orangutan cousins.''

''We're not related to orangutans.''

''But didn't we come from monkeys?''

''That's not how the evolutionary scale works.'' You laughed.

''Oh, whatever! My armpits are especially hairy. It was the only part of my body that I felt obliged to shave.''

''I wish I had a part of my body that I didn't feel obliged to shave.''

And so the conversation continued, casually, frivolously, downstairs. The breakfast was already on the table, with cut-up fruit, a simple nut cake and bread rolls with white cream and fresh butter; the freshest you'd ever tasted in your life. You pondered for a moment where Stephen would find a cook with such divine hands as Margaret.

''I always used brazillian wax.'' You commented distractedly, looking at Louise. The subject of the room had ceased only temporarily to say good morning to Gyro and Johnny, who seemed to have started eating a while ago, and soon resumed its course over the breakfast table.

''I used blades.'' She shuddered. ''Wax hurts too much, I don't know how you can stand it.''

''When you get used to it, it doesn't make much difference.''

''What are you talking about?'' Johnny sat down at the table, satisfied with his breakfast. Gyro seemed to follow soon after, not so satisfied, still wanting more bread rolls.

''Shaving.'' Louise replied casually, not bothering to talk about such a thing with two men from the last century. ''One of the things we miss.''

Johnny, however, seemed to mind talking about it with two women; you could see it in his flushed face.

''Why would you miss something that hurts so much?'' Gyro, as expected, also sat down at the table, first grabbing some bread rolls. ''Some madams in Italy do that because of the French women. From the screams I heard... it didn't seem very pleasant.''

''It depends on what's being waxed.'' You said, finding it funny.

''But why do they do it? Is there any benefit?'' Johnny asked, curious, although a little reluctant.

''Oh...'' You stopped to think, not really knowing the answer. ''I don't know... it smell less?''

''You don't smell bad.'' Johnny retorted.

''And what's wrong with smelling bad?'' Gyro said, partially offended. ''I mean, as a woman, what's wrong with smelling?''

''For God's sake, I don't know! Don't ask me such difficult questions.'' You said, and Louise laughed. ''Besides, I only shave my arms and legs...''

''Your legs and arms don't smell at all.'' Johnny continued.

''A real man doesn't care about that. Hair, smell, size or anything. A woman smells like a woman, not a garden flower, and I'm a man, not a bee.''

Louise laughed harder over her slice of cake, her eyes and nose wrinkling with amusem*nt at your defeat. You held in your laughter, looking at her perplexed, somewhat impressed by the versatility of Italians.

''I'm just saying, Gyro...'' A short laugh interrupted your sentence, but you pulled yourself together. ''That maybe... I don't know, the ladies of our time like smooth, soft legs.''

''Oh, so you do? You mean, if I were in your time, I'd have to cover myself in wax too?''

''Oh, no! Not you.''

''My legs are hairier than yours will ever be!'' He laughed, and so did Johnny. ''Not just my legs, but my arms, my armpits, my chest... everything!''

''But you're a man! It's meant to be like that, don't you think?''

''(Y/N), you're making Gyro look like the most feminist man in the country like that!'' Louise scoffed.

''Jesus, I'm just...'' you laughed again. ''Gosh, I'm just trying to prove my point.''

''But what's your point?'' Johnny asked.

''I don't know! I told you not to ask me difficult questions!''

Gyro inhaled as if to answer, then let out another breath, laughing, shaking his head and muttering something to himself in Italian. He got up to get a spoon from the kitchen counter, then threw himself back in his chair and leaned. You decided not to ask for a translation.

After everyone seemed to be finishing their breakfasts in what can best be described as a charged atmosphere, you decided to try reconciliation.

''At least I only shaved my arms and legs, it could be worse.'' You said, placing the empty coffee cup on the small plate. ''Women of our time remove all body hair.''

This caused Gyro to startle, which in turn brought him back to English, at least temporarily.

''What? Even the pubic hair?'' He casually asked.

Johnny frowned and looked at you, horrified to the point of not being able to avoid a vulgarity that was not his own.

''Yeah.'' You replied, pleased that such a sight took their attention away enough that you suddenly didn't seem so judgable to them. ''Every hair. Even the forgotten ones.''

''Jesus Christ!'' Johnny closed his eyes tightly, either to avoid or to better contemplate the perspective you had described.

Evidently, the first hypothesis was true, because he quickly opened his eyes and looked at you, scared.

''And why do they do that? Don't they look too young? Like... little girls?''

''Oh, men find it attractive.''

''Ha!'' Gyro intervened in the background. ''See, no one would put themselves through so much pain just because they like the result! Are the men of your era that ridiculous? I never imagined that there would be so many requirements for picking a woman.''

''Well, that too.'' You said. ''Maybe you're right. But in any case, I think it's pretty too, don't you, Louise?''

''Oh, yes.'' She said, the tone of her voice showing that it was indifferent to her.Of course it was indifferent, you thought,most men want to make sure she's a natural redhead.''Well, yes, it's pretty. But I don't really care... unless we're talking about armpits.''

''You think it's pretty because the little garden bees you call men said it's pretty.'' Gyro retorted, then went back to mumbling in Italian.

''For God's sake, if you're going to grumble, let it be in English.'' You said, standing up. ''I can't understand a word you say.''

''That's better. Poor things.''

''Poor things? Well, at least we can vote and... ah... we can be single after thirty, I guess.''

''You can vote, but you have to cover yourself in hot wax.'' He continued. ''When we pluck chickens, we kill them first. They do it with you alive.''

You preferred to say nothing, after all, you could do nothing but accept your defeat.

All these days, the passage of time had been monotonous; not that time should necessarily pass in different ways every day, but it was still strange. You hadn't done anything special apart from reading on that particular day, occasionally watching the maids cleaning the house at a frantic pace as the time for Stephen to come home from work approached and young Peter prepared the carriage to pick him up.

You had no idea what time it was, you didn't need to know. Even with the sky filled with low clouds and the sun invisible, you could feel the passing of the minutes, the slow shifting of the earth as the rhythms of the day changed. Birds that chirped at day stopped singing, and those that hunted at night began their ritual. The study room was no longer illuminated by the sun and you lit a few candles to finish reading the chapter you were on, taking short breaks to observe a passer-by outside.

This time it was the man you always saw watering the plants and guarding the stables. A security guard, perhaps? But he was very well dressed. Maybe he was a butler when Stephen arrived, or a helper... you'd never know if you kept avoiding talking to the people in the house. The servants had come to regard your presence as the equivalent of a lost soul who wasn't scary enough to disturb the peace of the house, and it was a bit of a nuisance when you realized that the only person you really struck up a conversation with was Louise.

So, throwing your antisocial behavior out of the window, you marked the page you had stopped reading and dropped the book on the table, leaving the study room and heading straight for the kitchen, where you knew the maids were starting to prepare dinner.

The servants, at first inclined to view you with fearful suspicion, soon realized that you had no intention of interfering in their work and Margaret and Vionnet relaxed into a state of mind of cautious and obsequious cordiality. At first, you would have thought, in your numb and tired state, that there were at least three servants lined up in the house. In fact, there were ten of them, including the gardener, the stable boy and the short men who put up fences around the property, although they didn't seem to be permanent employees, which you hadn't noticed in the general line-up. You were even more impressed by Stephen Steel's success in business, until you realized how little the servants earned: a pair of new shoes and a hundred and fifty dollars a month for the little servants, a little less for the cleaners, a little more for higher-ranking characters like the cook and the foreman - or simply the butler.

Like any student, you had read Mark Twain. And older authors too, with their descriptions of the cruel justice of those times and the complicated life of the working class, applied to everyone regardless of age or circ*mstance. But reading, from the comfortable distance of a century, accounts of the hanging of children, judicial mutilations, slavery and slave-like labor was very different from walking quietly past people who had most likely seen or experienced all of these things.

While you were examining the workings of the domestic arrangements and storing up whatever information you could glean from the maids' gossip at home, Louise, Gyro and Johnny kept up to date with Stephen's work and started discussing inviting some socialites and their husbands over for an informal dinner, including the neighbor who was about to give birth to the second of a dozen children. By establishing these social connections, which could be invaluable for a former jockey and an exiled executioner, they were preparing to assist you and Louise. It was among the dinner guests that you could find allies and old friends – or enemies.

''Dio?'' You asked, suddenly catching a familiar name amid the chatter of Vionnet and Margaret, as they polished the floorboards and chopped carrots. ''The governor?''

''Yes, miss.'' Vionnet was a short, fluffy young woman with a strangely flat face and bulging eyes that made her look like a flounder, but she was still pretty, kind and eager to please.

She pursed her lips in a small circle, announcing the revelation of some really scandalous gossip. You showed as much interest as possible.

''The governor, miss, has a bad reputation among the rich.'' She said affectionately.

As this also applied – according to Vionnet – to almost everyone Stephen was considering inviting to dinner parties, you arched your eyebrows, waiting for more details.

''They say he sold his soul to the devil, you know.'' She confided, lowering her voice and looking around as if Dio might be lurking behind the fireplace ledge. ''He knows, sees and hears everything, he has all the dirt on all the politicians so he can threat them. Also, I've heard that he celebrates the Black Mass, where the blood and flesh of innocent people is shared between them and diabolical monsters! As well as orgies, of course.''

Nice specimen Gyro and Johnny chose to turn into an enemy, you thought.

''Oh, everyone knows, miss.'' Margaret assured. ''But it doesn't matter, the women are crazy about him anyway; wherever he goes, they throw themselves at him. But he's also very rich.'' Obviously, this last qualification was at least enough to counterbalance, if not surpass, the fact that he drinks blood and eats human flesh.

''How interesting.'' You said. ''But I thought mister Brando was some kind of enemy of mister Steel, or at least of Lucy.''

''Well, Lucy tells everyone to keep their distance from Dio, and I think she's right, but the poor girl can't control her husband.'' Vionnet said. ''Between you and me, I think Dio has some dirt on mister Steel, that's why they stay close.''

''Hm... but then what are they, exactly?''

''Business partners.'' Said Margaret, finishing chopping the carrots and washing her hands to pick up the onions. ''Mister Steel is the country's press, no politician wants to stand against him.''

''But Stephen invites him to dinners, don't you find that strange?'' Vionnet added. ''It's been a few months since they had a meeting, but it's still strange.''

''Hm, I see... there's no one in a favorable position here. Why did Lucy let Stephen invite Dio to these dinners?''

''We don't know, miss.''

''I see.'' You said, smiling. ''And mister Steel is also similarly invited to dine with Dio?''

Vionnet nodded in confirmation, the white kerchief in her hair shaking above the bottle of oil and the mop.

''Ah, yes, miss. But not as often!''

Diego Brando had fortunately not been invited to dinner this evening. Everyone dined simply,en famille, so that Stephen could rehearse Louise on the final details to be resolved regarding a new project in progress, still about producing French wines on American territory,if that was even possible. He was planning a more articulate event in case his client considered the idea of maintaining relations with Stephen after the risky guess of opening a winery in North Carolina; a purely French dinner, with French music, French clothes, French customs that, the more they were detailed, the more they resembled a Versailles Ball.

Stephen had said that he would like his dinner to be as honorable as being invited to theLeverof the King of France himself; a significant mark of consideration, he explained over dinner.

''Martin, the man in charge of my partnership with theDomaine, wants to make sure that the wine is exclusive, with only exclusive figures tasting it, and I believe that the finance minister also shares the same desire. When the former president... well, when Valentine died, the economy minister resigned. This hit traders hard and many foreigners left, with damaging effects that you can well imagine. So in my personal opinion, extending the trade inDomainewines to the upper middle class could be much more beneficial.''

He grimaced at the thought of the late president, frowning at the fish on his fork. Then he preferred to continue the subject that probed theDomainewinery.

''I intend to start preparations for the event, with or without a partnership. I'm just waiting for the news that our batch ofDomainehas arrived safely in Manhattan and then I'll be on my way.'' Stephen took another bite of fish and shook his head at Johnny, speaking with his mouth full. ''I don't want to force Lucy to go somewhere she doesn't feel comfortable, not least because we're talking about Dio's island, so I know she's in good hands here, I have no worries in that part. But we need to talk a bit about other issues before I leave. I've arranged with Dio that I'll see him in two weeks so that he can see our guest list. I thought you might like to know. I'm willing to provide you with useful information, but I'm not going to risk my wife and I any more than I have to.''

You felt a sudden flutter of excitement in the pit of your stomach, although you still felt that a two weeks was too long, and exchanged a brief glance with Johnny. He nodded to Stephen, as if it was no big deal, but his eyes sparkled with anticipation when he looked at you. So that was the beginning of everything.

''Dio lives a very private life.'' Lucy said as she dug into the last piece of fish on her plate, slippery as butter. ''It wouldn't be appropriate for him to attend other people's events without checking the guest list beforehand. If there's any enmity, he'll judge whether it's worth going to the event or not.''

''Does he have many enemies?'' Louise asked, then took a sip of dry wine.

''It's the only thing he has.'' She replied with a certain bitterness. ''So the governor rarely leaves the house and lives with very few people.''

''That's not what I heard.'' You interrupted.

''What?'' Five pairs of perplexed eyes turned in your direction and Johnny put down his fork, abandoning the last piece of fish to its fate.

Gyro arched an eyebrow in your direction.

''What did you hear,bella, and from whom?''

''From the maids.'' You said, concentrating on your own fish.

Seeing Stephen frown, it occurred to you for the first time that it shouldn't be very appropriate for the guest of the house to gossip with the maids.Well, to hell with it, you thought rebelliously. There wasn't much left for you to do.

''The cleaning lady says that mister Brando has questionable habits and connections. Something called the Black Mass, about giving human flesh to diabolical monsters.'' You revealed, plucking a piece of fish off your fork and chewing slowly. It was delicious, but it was an unpleasant sensation to swallow it whole, as if the creature was still alive. You swallowed carefully, so far, so good. ''... and orgies.'' You added delicately, drawing a laugh from Gyro and Louise.

While they looked amused, the rest of the table looked horrified.

''Oh, orgies?'' Disgusted, Lucy considered dropping her plate of food.

''Diabolical monsters?'' Johnny asked. ''Giving human flesh to monsters?'' He rubbed his fingers over his lips, leaving a buttery sheen around his mouth. ''That... can't be...'' He muttered, as if talking to himself. ''Could it be that the idiot... no. Surely he's smarter than that. It must just be rumors.''

He stopped muttering and turned to Gyro resolutely.

''That's strange, don't you think, Gyro?''

Gyro shook his head distractedly, surely thinking about the orgies.

''How does the maid know about Dio's hobbies,bella?'' He asked. ''She doesn't leave the house very often, as far as I can see.''

You shook your head and swallowed the next mouthful before answering.

''As far as I could tell, the girl heard it from the gardener, who heard it from the boy who takes care of the horses, who heard it from the neighbor's cook. I don't know how many people there are. The closest neighbor is that socialite who's pregnant, isn't she? I imagine she also knows everything about us and more.'' You added cheerfully. ''At least she probably does, if she talks to the cook.''

''A lady doesn't gossip with her maids.'' Stephen said coldly. He narrowed his eyes at Johnny in a silent plea for him to control you better.

You could see the corner of Johnny's mouth twitch, but he merely took a sip from his single glass of orange juice on the table laden with wine glasses and changed the subject to a discussion about Stephen's latest initiative; a shipment of rum on its way to Cuba.

When Lucy rang the bell for the table to be cleared and the cognac served, you excused yourself and left. One of Stephen's indiosyncrasies was his taste for long, dark cigarillos to accompany his cognac, and you had the distinct feeling that, carefully chewed or not, the fish you'd eaten wouldn't like being smoked.

You lay in bed and tried, with limited success, not to think about fish. You closed your eyes and tried to think of Cuba - of beautiful white beaches under the tropical sun, and then revolutions. But the thought of Cuba made you think of ships, and the thought of ships made you think of the sea, which took you straight back to the image of gigantic fish and eels, curling and snaking through green waves, rising and falling. You greeted Louise's arrival with relief, sitting down on the bed when she came in.

''Whew!'' She leaned against the closed door, fanning herself with the wide edge of her sweater. ''I feel like a smoked sausage. I like Stephen, but I'll be very pleased when he's taken those cigarillos back to Manhattan.''

''Well, don't come near me if you smell like cigarillos.'' You asked. ''Fish don't like smoke.''

''I don't blame them a bit for that.'' She took off her sweater. ''I think it's a plan, you know.'' She confided, indicating the door with a flick of her head as she sniffed her sweater. ''Like with bees.''

''Bees?''

''When you take a hive from one place to another.'' She explained, opening the window and hanging her sweater outside on the latch. ''You fill a pipe with the strongest tobacco you can find, stick it in the hive and blow smoke into the combs. All the bees fall out, dizzy, and then you can take them wherever you want. I think that's what Stephen does with his clients; he fills them with smoke until they're numb and have signed orders for three times the amount of wine they intended to give before they come to their senses.''

You laughed and she smiled, putting her finger to her lips when she heard Lucy's light, distinctive footsteps ascending the stairs, passing in front of the door and heading for her own room.

Once the danger of being discovered had passed, she stretched out on her bed, next to yours.

''Isn't it stinky?'' She asked. ''I can sleep in the dressing room if it is. Or stick my head out for some fresh air.''

You leaned towards her bed and sniffed her hair, where the smell of tobacco had seeped into the red waves. The candlelight cast golden highlights on the red locks and you ruffled them with your fingers, feeling the softness and volume.

''No, it's not unbearable.''

''So, what do you think?'' She turned her head and looked at you.

''About?''

''Come on, (Y/N), Dio!''

''Ah, yes. Well, I guess Gyro and Johnny aren't telling us everything about him.''

''Of course, that's obvious. Did you see how Johnny started acting strange when you talked about diabolical monsters?''

''Yes, I was thinking about that... I think we'll get more information from the maids than from them.''