Freddie crumpled the paper into a ball and lobbed it in the general direction of his waste bin. It ended up with the growing pile of crumpled up paper next to it. He'd have to take the trash out soon. The light outside the window had fallen faster than he had realized. A shoddy yellow lamp and the fire burning in his fireplace were the only light that illuminated his desk.

Loosening his tie, Freddie ran a hand through his already unruly hair. The article he was attempting to write was proving more difficult than he had first anticipated and he was already calling in all the favors he could. Nobody would go on the record about the clearly corrupt senator and every lead he followed ended in a dead end. Freddie was half-convinced Bel had given him this story because it was impossible. Freddie wondered why he hadn't quit yet. There had to be at least a few job opportunities for writers nearing thirty.

He stood up and stretched, pulling a cigarette out of his vest pocket. It was somewhat crushed, but Freddie was too exhausted to find his jacket with his cigarette case. He had told his mom he had quit months ago and that was mostly true. Freddie only smoked when he was feeling on edge about work. There was a tenseness in his shoulders from the last month and a half of pulling all-nighters. He stood and tried to stretch out the kink in his neck. It wasn't his fault that he couldn't catch a break. Maybe if his coworkers could do their jobs and actually write decent stories then Freddie wouldn't need to lose sleep to pick up their slack.

The story was a good one, but with no evidence, there was not much that Freddie could do to stop it from being put on the backburner. Bel had already threatened to have him writing fluff column pieces for the next year if he didn't finish this story. Freddie was running out of ways to get information. He patted down his pockets, looking for his lighter. He could have sworn he had it when he left the office.

"Need a light, my friend?" A smooth voice asked.

Freddie spun on his heels, nearly losing his balance in the process. The voice belonged to a man who was sitting in an armchair near the fire. This man had dark hair and caramel colored skin. The suit he wore was coal black and looked to be worth more than Freddie's whole house.

Freddie blinked. This had to be some sort of bizarre dream brought on by too much nicotine and not enough sleep. He pinched himself on the arm, but there was still a man sitting in his living room. He took step back, hitting the edge of his desk.

"Who are you?" Freddie demanded. He hoped that his voice didn't sound as shaky as his legs felt. He had triple checked the lock on his door. There should not have been a man in his living room. He glanced around for his telephone. Last place he had seen it was on his desk. However, his desk had been buried under multiple stacks of papers for months and it was impossible to find anything.

"Names aren't important to me," the man said airily. "But I understand that they do hold importance to you people." He paused, tapping a slender finger on his chin, brow furrowed in thought. "I suppose you could call me Nick, Old Nick."

There wasn't anything 'old' about this Nick guy. The man had one of those faces that wasn't young or old, it had an eerily timeless quality to it. He could be anywhere from his twenties to his fifties. Noticing Freddie's questioning gaze, Nick merely smiled and took a long sip from a glass that was definitely too nice to be one of Freddie's. Nick sat with the air of someone who had all the time in the world.

"Get out of my house," Freddie said, louder this time. He crossed his arms over his chest, in an attempt to look more intimidating.

"Not until you've heard me out, Freddie," Nick replied. "I have a most intriguing business proposal for you."

Freddie scowled. "Not interested." He wasn't an idiot, no matter what Bel said, he knew better than to listen to some guy who broke into his house. He was trying to keep half an eye on his unwelcome guest while looking for the phone. He moved a pile of papers and saw the phone cord.

"But you haven't even heard it yet," Nick pouted. "At least allow me to finish my drink."

"Like I said before, not interested," Freddie replied, picking up the phone. "Now get out before I call the police."

"At least finish your cigarette," Nick said. Freddie turned and found himself practically nose to nose with Nick.  He hadn't even heard Nick get up, let alone cross the room. "You listen to my deal and if you're still not in agreement with what I propose by the time you finish that cigarette, I'll leave."

Nick held up his hands to the cigarette still dangling loosely from Freddie's lips. Freddie didn't hear the snick of a lighter, but a flame darted from Nick's hand and lit the cigarette.

"Please sit," Nick said.

Freddie hesitated, phone in hand. He could still call the cops. It wouldn't be that hard to dial three numbers. Something about Nick caused Freddie to hesitate. He was curious what this Nick character had to say. Perhaps Nick could offer him a better story than the corrupt politician one or maybe he was someone who was willing to go on the record or had information about them. The possibility of information made Freddie put the phone back on the receiver.

"How do I know that you'll leave?" Freddie asked.

Nick placed a hand over his heart. "I swear to God," he said with a sly grin. "Good enough for you?"

Freddie nodded and allowed Nick to guide him to a chair by the fireplace. The hand on his back was uncomfortably warm, probably from Nick sitting so close to the fire.

Nick seemed not to notice Freddie's' unease as he took the seat across from him. He poured a glass of a dark amber liquid from a bottle that was most likely worth more than Freddie made in a year. Freddie wondered where the bottle had come from. He definitely didn't own it.

"Can I offer you a glass?" Nick said. "Best liquor this side of the gates."

Freddie shook his head, taking another drag on his cigarette, bouncing his leg. He wished that he had thought to grab a pen and paper.

"Pity," Nick said. He poured himself a glass and took a long sip, before turning to Freddie. "So down to business. You're probably wondering why I am here."

"I'd like to know how you broke in," Freddie replied. He would have to replace his locks.

Nick scoffed. "Broke in, don't be so crass."

"Well, how'd you get in?" Freddie demanded. "It's not like you can just appear or disappear."

"Oh can't I?" Nick replied. His eyes had a strange glint to them. At first, Freddie thought it might be the fire throwing its light, but the more Freddie stared at Nick the more he realized that the strange flickering was coming from his eyes.

Freddie was starting to regret not calling the police when he had the chance. Nick had a lean look to him and appeared to have a good two inches on Freddie. Freddie didn't fancy trying to remove Nick from his house by force. The last two times Freddie had gotten into a fight, he had wound up in the hospital for stitches and broken ribs.

"What do you want?" Freddie asked. He took another drag of his cigarette, ignoring the slight tremble that scattered ashes on his vest. The sooner he finished his cigarette the sooner this man would leave. At least Freddie hoped Nick would leave. Nick was starting to strike Freddie as a man who didn't regularly keep his word. He at least seemed like he was very good at twisting situations to get what he wanted. 

Nick tapped a finger thoughtfully on his glass. "I want a lot of things, Freddie. I want people to choose for themselves which side they are on. I want to overthrow those who oppose and lie to everyone. There is no simple answer for what I want." Nick paused, looking into the fire. "But, what I want is unimportant. The question is Freddie, what do you want?"

"I want to finish this cigarette and I want you to get out of my house," Freddie replied shortly. He took another drag and picked at a loose thread on his vest. There was no reason for Nick to care what Freddie wanted.

"Surely you want more than that?" Nick said. "Shall I tell you what you want?"

Freddie remained silent, unraveling the loose thread.

Nick took a sip from his glass. "I think you want fame, but more than that. I think you want to be admired and respected. You want people to take you seriously as a journalist."

"And you can make that happen?" Freddie asked.

"Would I be offering if I couldn't?" Nick replied.

"Nobody can just make that happen," Freddie said. "That's impossible."

Nick grinned. "I do the impossible every day, boy. One could even say that I'm impossible. I know you need this story, Freddie. Didn't you threaten to blackmail the senator's campaign manager just last week for information?"

Freddie froze. He didn't know how Nick had found out about that. Freddie hadn't actually intended to blackmail Mr. Bryce, just scare him a little. All Freddie had were rumors of Mr. Bryce's affair with one of the senator's rivals. Freddie had just implied that he had more when he asked Mr. Bryce for information about the senator. Freddie was worried, what if Nick was a cop or worse, what if Nick worked for the senator.

"I'm not judging," Nick said, waving a hand dismissively. "Everyone does little nasty things from time to time; it's how I stay in business. The point I am trying to make, Freddie is that you want this story. I can feel it. You want this story so bad that you'll do just about anything to get it."

"What do you want?" Freddie demanded. He pulled at his collar. The room was stifling hot now.

"I want you to write this story," Nick replied. He seemed unaffected by the slowly increasing temperature. "I want you to expose all the senators' dirty little dealings and I want you to get the fame you deserve."

"What's in it for you?" Freddie asked. This deal seemed a little too good to be true and Freddie wanted to know why Nick was so willing to help him.

"Oh nothing much," Nick replied. "Nothing you'll really need anyways, at least not right now. I give you the name of someone who has all the information and proof that you would need to take down Mr. Oh-So-Nasty senator. In return, I get your word."

"My word?" Freddie asked.

Nick nodded. "Yes, your word that when I return and ask you for a favor, you do that favor. If you refuse or try to run out on the deal –" Nick paused, draining the last sip from his glass. "Well, let's not let it come to that."

"You give me a name and I promise you a favor?" Freddie said.

"Yes," Nick replied. "Sound like a deal?"

Freddie mulled it over. There couldn't be any possible way for any one person to make all of that happened. It was tempting to think about, but Freddie didn't trust Nick. The way he had just appeared in his living room, the strange trick with the fire, the knowing way he smiled, it was like he was laughing at his own jokes. It all made Freddie feel very uneasy, but if all he had to do was promise Nick a favor in return for a source, that was a very tempting offer.

"What kind of favor would it be?" Freddie asked. He flicked his cigarette butt into the flickering flames.

"Nothing major, nothing terribly illegal," Nick replied. "Perhaps a bit immoral, but what isn't immoral these days."

"If the source isn't good then the deal is off," Freddie said. He wanted to have at least a little wiggle room to get out of the deal if he needed to.

"Trust me," Nick said with a toothy grin. "My sources are always good. Shall we shake on it?"

Freddie shook Nick's hand. There was still that strange heat as if Nick had been holding his hands close to the fire just moments before. The fire hissed and popped.

"You won't regret this Freddie," Nick said, releasing Freddie's hand and picking up his glass. "You'll get your story."

"And you'll get your favor," Freddie replied. The idea of owing this mysterious Nick a favor was unsettling for Freddie, but if he got his story, it was all worth it. Or so Freddie hoped.

"I'll be seeing you around, Freddie," Nick said with a smile. "Good luck on the story."

The fire flared and Freddie glanced at it. When he looked back up, his house was completely deserted. There was a folded piece of paper on the table where Nick's glass had been. The edges of the paper were scorched, but there was a name and address scrawled in loopy handwriting. In the morning, Freddie would go check out if the new source had any information for him. Freddie was half convinced he had dreamed the whole thing, except for the lingering smell of sulfur. 

I wrote this back in either my sophmore or junior year of college. I've been going through some old writing and cleaning it up to reupload. Some day I might come back and add to this, but for now enjoy it. 

<3 AMA