“We have never heard the devil’s side of the story, God wrote all the book.”
A scene excerpt is below the cover image. Another can be found at: “The Devil’s Writer….” [The Light in a Dark Room]
Michael held his card; it read only, Stephan Abaddon Tan. They stood in a sitting area just off the lobby of the airport hotel where they had decided to meet.
“Are you an agent?” Michael asked.
“Are you a publisher?”
“Not exactly…,” he offered nothing more.
“What or who the hell are you then?”
“I love your choice of expression.”
“What you say and write… the words you choose. I like them very much,” he whispered in a smooth tone that made Michael want to check the corners of his mouth for oil on the hinges. The ghost of his smile flickered like heat coming off asphalt on a hot Texas summer day. A long slender finger, nails tapering to a point, tapped those lips.
“As I told you in my email and our call. I’m looking for a writer,” his upraised hand headed off Michael’s interruption, “I give them the research, characters and plot and they write the story for me.”
At his pause, Michael asked, “Then you’re talking about fiction…”
“Yes. At first. Afterwards it may be considered creative nonfiction but once done it’s done and no matter to me.” He walked around the sitting area looking at the pictures on the wall. Noting they were all prints… nothing original… nothing valuable.
“What the hell does that mean… fiction then nonfiction?” Michael followed him over to the window.
“Again, I so love your expressive choice of words,” he touched the drapes, rubbing them between thumb and forefinger, as if checking the quality of the fabric. “Fiction to nonfiction does not matter.” He turned to face Michael. “Are you interested in the position?”
“What’s the pay? Per word… per page or do you…”
“…there is no pay…”
Michael snorted, “That’s not gonna work, you need to…”
“Silence,” though not loud, the word stuck in the air like a sharp knife in wood and hung there vibrating. “There is not any pay for these specific stories but I can promise great reward for all the others you write.”
“How the hell are you going to do that?”
“You’re colorful… do you like that word so much?”
“Never mind… I digress. Are you interested?” He looked at Michael the same way he had just looked at the furnishings. Calculating.
“What genre will these stories be… adventure, thriller, science fiction… horror?”
His smile settled in and broadened, “Horror, most assuredly.” The gray mustache curled like smoke over the red rim of his mouth. “Oh yes… definitely.”