The man with the cologne, the one who had addressed himself as Bill Grey, walked down a deserted forest path, happily humming a song.

In his hand was an old medical handbook, pages yellowing with the passage of time and cover torn beyond recognition. As he flipped feverishly through the pages, a devilish grin spread across his face. His long fingers stopped on one paper.

"Ah, there it is. Let's see what the fools have written. . ."

✴Nightwalking Syndrome (Hanslon's Syndrome)

▫A group of psychological conditions discovered in the early 1900's. The first ever recorded case was of Phillipe Hanslon, a butler in the household of Lord Saultaire and a resident of Saultaire, Germany. The condition has not been under study for decades due its rare occurrence. It could however prove to be malignant if left untreated.

"Rare condition indeed! You should be thanking whatever you pray to that it is rare. Don't worry, Levi, you'll learn all about it soon, and my enterprise would blossom in the chaos. For everything you did to Vera, you bitch, consider this my payback."

The path stopped outside a factory, where police sirens blazed the night. He meekly blended into the huge crowd assembled before the building. Just as he was about to leave, a hand grabbed his shoulder.

"Excuse me?"

A female voice asked, "Have you seen two men running into the forest?"

He gently moved her hand off his shoulder, turned around and flashed a thousand megawatt grin at her,

"I'm sorry, love, but I haven't. What is a beautiful dame such as yourself doing here in this ruckus?"

A stunned silence followed. She didn't answer and elbowed through the crowd. Bill Grey chuckled as he walked out of the commotion and disappeared into the mist.

•°*°•

It took Firenze an entire fifteen minutes to mentally prepare himself, and he decided to rerun whatever happened, in his mind.

He remembered that Helga and he were waiting for Neil. On him not returning, they went to investigate. He was seen running into the forest, and he had decided to follow him.

From that point on, his memories became muddled. Helga had clearly held his shoulder trying to stop him and he refused. He ran into the forest, and there was no denying that because he had felt the wet moss caking his shoes. And walking into a clearing was also true, or how else would've he stopped to catch his breath.

And then there was the huge werewolf thing. That can't be real, now can it? Werewolves were just figments of literary imagination.

But his neck still hurt and it felt like hot irons being pressed onto his throat.

The pain wasn't imaginary, so why would the thing that caused it be?

He sighed and concluded that his world would never be the same again.

Besides, the Earth boasts of a variety of fauna. What if it were an undiscovered species of let's say, bear? And maybe because of its shyness, it is yet to be discovered.

A faint tormented cry echoed in his head.

He listened and waited for it to end. But the cry never did, and his migraine pounded his forehead, keeping pace with the noise.

Firenze immediately felt vulnerable; there was an uninvited guest inside, who he wasn't sure to trust. He realized that feeling scared wouldn't help because it wouldn't get rid of the voice.

Bad thoughts. . .bad thoughts. . . don't think bad thoughts. . . keep calm. . . breathe . . .

. . . Somebody HELP!

He had to bring his mind under control. On one side, was childish fear of what he couldn't comprehend. On the other was his blind adult rationale that such things couldn't exist. Both tore at his brain, and the migraine did not recede.

Finally, he decided to wake up. A cup of steaming coffee would solve the problem. What if he woke up back at home and this was nothing but a nightmare. He just wasn't sure anymore.

As sunlight streamed in, his irises stung in pain of its strength. He opened them fully after a while. As he looked about, a moan of defeat arose from his lips as he understood that some things are just meant to be accepted.

He was in a smelly alley dumped with trash, possibly still in Rasüte. The sunlight that hurt his eyes the first time was an indicator of dawn. A working yet smashed watch lying a few feet off on his right ticked away, the hour hand at six. Its ticking and the sound of the ruffling of plastic garbage bags drowned most of the cry still echoing in his head.

The weight which numbed his legs was none other than the creature from the night before. It presently laid almost still, head against his chest. It was weakly licking his neck, and surprisingly, he felt the pain decrease.

His migraine faded almost completely by the time he managed to sit upright. It wasn't that bad to look at either, its eyes returned to the warm hazel shade, unlike the sulphur-yellow ones it had before. It also seemed to be a whole lot friendlier than before, as it licked his wounds. Its moist tongue healed all of them, leaving him dumbfounded.

"Um, thanks. But do you mind?" He murmured, pushing the thing away. The last time he got close, he almost became its chew toy. Its mouth opened into a canine smile, and nodded with all the energy it could muster. But it looked at its legs, one of which was twisted at a sickening angle.

It looked into his eyes hopefully and gently asked in silence. There was no need for a common language, both could understand each other. The creature looked at the sky that lay beyond the wall of buildings with a longing so clear.

Take me home, it said.

It had lost a lot of blood through the slit on its throat, but it looked strong enough to survive. The silver band glinted as Firenze leaned in to take a good look at it. The creature exposed its throat to let him see.

It didn't have writing on it spare for a pair of words.

White Willow.

Naturally the first bunch of questions were,

"What is that supposed to mean? Is it your home address? Your name? The name of your owner? Do you have an owner?"

The creature nodded.

Before it could specify anything, it collapsed unconscious on his lap. Something inside him warned him against abandoning the creature.

Get it home to get it off your back. Abandon it, and it might follow you. Getting it home is the best course of action.

He gently rolled it to one side, and grabbing a wet wall nearby for support, he pulled himself up. Legs bowed in weakness, flailing wildly. As he got up, a strain was felt in his left calf. He tried to walk it off, but the strain persisted, hurting with each step.

He looked at the sleeping beast. Taking this thing directly out into the public was a bad idea. Looking around, a long woolen trench coat hanging on a pipe caught his eye.

Hmm.

The streets were barely crowded when Firenze emerged, carrying the werewolf, who presently looked like a drunk street bum. It was heavy, but he had managed to lift it after a few attempts. His calf protested like a spoilt toddler, and the cry of pain in his head had risen in tone.

The shopkeepers spared them a glance as he strode down the lane. One of them stopped him en route,

"What happened?" She asked, cataract clouded eyes scanning him from head to toe.

Firenze stared at her for a while, looking confused.

Oh crap.

"My mate here had a bit of a party yesterday. The moron. Do you know any good hotels around here?"

He smiled to reflect sincerity and awkwardly shifted his weight from his left leg to his right. The lady's eyes analyzed every word said, and thought for a while.

"Yes, there is one, a few blocks ahead. Hotel Niravellin."

"Niravellin? That's new."

"It's apparently a combination of souve'nir', un'ravel' and 'in'n," She said shaking her head, as she walked to open the shutter of her shop. Firenze chirped a thanks and continued to walk.

A few moments later, something buzzed in his pocket. Curious, he searched the pockets, and fished out his cellphone. The caller had no name, and the number was shown to be unknown.

He pressed the attend button and kept the device close to his ears.

A familiar voice rang out from the other side, hushed and whispering,

"Firenze, is that you? It's me. Listen carefully, there is no time to explain. If anyone other than me calls you, don't pick up. Wherever you are, stay close to the ground and do not, I repeat do not, follow anyone in a white suit."

His eyes widened in disbelief, as he saw a black limousine pull up beside a grand hotel a few metres away.

"Neil?"