“I need you to listen to me carefully. You don’t know me, but I know you.”

It was an odd thing for someone to say. But he wasn’t going to deny that this stranger knew him. The feeling of being watched had been there for a few weeks. He couldn’t place how long it had been happening. And now, finally, he could put a name on this feeling.

His heart was beating rapidly.

Why would he think this stranger knew him?

Who cared about some random stranger in town? No one else did; it was all about the money or the fame. But… It was strange. This stranger was speaking like they knew each other very well. Like they were friends. And why did they want his attention so badly? There must be some reason for this. Why? Why would anyone ever want anything from him?

He looked up and stared at the stranger. His eyes were wide with fear, yet the stranger didn’t seem to mind. In fact he could have sworn that he had seen them somewhere on a poster….. that’s it, the missing PI Byron Mathias. This person had come to him and asked for an statement. They were looking into the murder of Lady Layla Kane, the eccentric billionaire heiress, found stuffed into her own safe.

How did the stranger know about him though? How would they know who he was?

The man reached out and lightly brushed away a stray strand of ash blonde hair, when he caught sight of a small tattoo on his pale skin. The name ‘Anon’ appeared to be written underneath the letter D in black ink, almost as if it had been branded upon his skin.

A chill ran down his spine as he felt his hand shake uncontrollably. Who was this? What was this? This stranger, this stranger, whoever they were, had found him.

And now he knew that he would be staying.

~~~*~~~

“ Are you sure you don’t want anything else, sir?” Byron shook his head.

He paid the server with the cash he had in his pocket before leaving the café and walked outside.

As he stood there he looked around. A light drizzle fell upon the ground, and everything was cloaked in the darkness of the night. It seemed peaceful, however. Peaceful, and quiet. Not unlike his own thoughts.

There were few things that made this city, New Orleans, more beautiful to Byron than it’s murderous dark side. The sounds of gunshots rang through the air every once in awhile, while the occasional gunshot echoed in the distance. Every now and then he heard a scream.

What a strange place, he thought to himself.

No wonder so many people feared to go out during daylight hours. The sun never set, no matter what. And there were those who liked the darker times best… those who reveled in its cold embrace, those who thrived off bloodlust, and the rest who loved to feel it burning their bodies.

He smiled as he thought of them all. Those were his brothers, after all. He loved spending time with them, watching them fight and play. Even though they didn’t always see eye to eye he still enjoyed spending time with them.

But something seemed different tonight, somehow. Perhaps it was just the fact that it was so late in the day. Or maybe it was because it was Halloween. Whatever it may be, the atmosphere here seemed sinister.

Wrapped up in his thoughts Byron didn’t hear the sound of another’s footsteps and was to slow to prevent the cold steel of a knife plunging into his back again and again.

He collapsed against the brick wall behind him. Blood flowed freely from between his fingers as he grasped at his chest. With great effort he tried to breathe but ended up sucking in a mouthful of the warm liquid instead.

The knife stopped, inches from piercing his heart. Instead a voice spoke softly by his ear.

“ I’ll give you three guesses.”

Three? Three guesses?! Oh, hell yeah! That bastard! If he wanted his life, he would get it!

He took a deep breath, trying to ignore the pain shooting through his body. Then he said one word, one single word.

“Fuck.”

His opponent chuckled, removing the blade as he spoke.

“That’s not much of a good answer, is it?”

No, Byron thought to himself. Nothing about tonight was good.

The man held the knife above Byron’s neck, preparing to slice it cleanly across his throat. Just as he was ready to strike, he heard movement. A flash of white and gold streaked in front of him.

Before the killer could even begin to comprehend what had happened, he let out a sharp cry as the knife was suddenly yanked out of his hands. As he turned his head, he saw a tall man holding the hilt in his grasp.

The attacker fell backwards onto his ass, cradling his broken hand. Before he could make any move, however, the other man had raised his leg and delivered a vicious kick to the killer’s face.

Once again, his opponent was thrown forward.

“I suggest you run along,” said the newcomer, his gaze focused solely on the man. “I’d hate to hurt you again.”

With a nod and an unsteady stagger, the man disappeared beneath the shadows of the surrounding buildings.

“T-Thank…y…you.” Byron drifted into unconsciousness, his mind filled with the image of a man with long silver hair and giant white and gold wings.