New York City,
March 2001
David Anami leaned back on the black leather sofa with a deep sigh, casting a glance at the clock. It was 3:00 in the morning, and the nightlife of the city below was still going strong. So was his restlessness. He briefly closed his eyes and listened to the distant honking of horns, the swish of tires on the pavement. They were the pulse of the city, and he could feel it echo in his own veins.
He'd been home for hours, but he didn't think to seek out his wife upon returning from his meeting. Instead, he sought the sanctuary of his study, away from her sorrowful eyes. They speared his heart with every glance, and tonight he didn't have the will to face them.
He cradled his head in his hands.
Tonight. Oh, God.
He had become a monster. His soul was fading into darkness, and those closest to him were beginning to realize the potential danger they were in through association with him. It was only a matter of time before the shadows claimed them, as well.
He tossed back another scotch and soda, breathing deeply as the streaks of alcoholic fire flowed through him and began to dull his senses. He wanted them to do what they do best; he needed so badly to be freed from his pain. He longed for oblivion.
After placing his empty glass on the coffee table, he rose with a low groan and strode to a window which dominated one wall. He stripped off his work shirt and carelessly tossed it behind him. It landed on the sofa, its ruined whiteness evident against the dark leather.
The breathtaking view from his penthouse apartment, until then, had always inspired feelings of peace and security within him. He once believed that no harm would ever come to himself or his family in such a place as this, where all things that were considered evil seemed to fade into the mist beneath their castle in the sky; the towering skyscrapers serving as loyal guards to his personal fortress.
Whenever he felt unsure about any critical choices that he had to make in his business matters or in his private life, all he had to do was spend some time in his study and gaze down at Manhattan, the heart of New York and the center of his world.
Well, not quite the center
.
A half-smile curved his exquisite mouth. He remembered something that his wife once said about the window at the beginning of their life in the city, joking around with him that he was always "performing a ritual" with it and that the window was his "all-seeing crystal ball, only flat."
He thought of his son and his frequent visits to this room, and each and every time, the child asked him for a boost so he could see for himself the view that so fascinated his father.
David's smile faded as his thoughts grew serious once more.
They are everything to me. In my life I have been very fortunate, but none of it comes close to the pure joy that my family gives me.
He blinked back tears as his emotions stormed through him. A lone tear escaped, trailed down his sculpted cheek.
I will not allow anything to harm my wife and child. I would do anything to protect them. If I had to, I would die so that they may live.
His intentions were clear enough concerning his dilemma; he needed a professional whom he could trust, someone with knowledge of the supernatural. However, when it came down to taking the measures needed to find such a person, he was at a loss over what to do.
Private detectives are a dime a dozen in this town, yet somehow I believe that if I were to consult any of them about my particular case, I would find myself surrounded by men in white lab coats or the police. Jesus, the tabloids would love to get their hands on something like that.
In coming to his study, he'd required solitude to plan his next move. The only conclusion that he could draw was that he definitely could not handle the matter on his own. The stress had already begun to take its toll on him, and it was starting to affect his family and business as well.
He did not fail to notice the worry in his wife's eyes when she looked at him, and inside he resolved to be strong for her and their son. But he was only one man, and one man can only take so much strain before cracking. He needed outside support, or he would surely go mad.
I need someone that can prevent me from sinking further into the depths of Hell.
Another sigh escaped him, filled with despair. With a heavy heart he finally turned away from his window, having gained neither clarity nor peace of mind.
He switched off the light, and in total darkness walked out of his study and up the stairs, not stopping until he reached the door to the master bedroom. He held his breath as he slowly entered the room, fearing that he would find the bed empty.
Or worse, that he would find endless trails of blood on the walls, the floor, the sheets; the motionless body of his wife, her lifeless eyes staring blankly into his as if to say "How could you let this happen?"
Instead of the gruesome sight, he found his bed occupied by not just one, but two very alive beings. They were both sleeping soundly, and he gave a silent prayer of thanks that his worst fear had not become a reality.
Not tonight, but what about tomorrow or the next day?
His wife was unaware of his anxiety as she slept, her raven hair spread out on the pillow. The faint sound of her breath filled him with great awe. He cared for her deeply, and he considered himself lucky to be married to her.
