My first few weeks in the apartment had been a whirlwind of work and solitude. The job at Bayou Accounting was demanding but satisfying. It kept my mind sharp, and my thoughts from straying too often to Alex. Yet, as the moon grew fuller each night, I found myself gazing at it, wondering about him. Of what he was doing. If he even spared a thought in my direction.
Yet, with each passing day, the whispers of the French Quarter grew louder, of beasts roaming the bayous, raising my curiosity. I'd become accustomed to the nightly serenade of jazz and laughter, but now there was an undercurrent of something else, something that set my nerves on edge.
One evening, as I was climbing the outside stairs to my apartment, I heard the faint sound of a howl, a mournful cry that seemed to resonate in
