I wrote a thing.

 He stood perfectly still, a paper cut out against the window. His sharp shouldered suit coat edged like a shadow puppet. The light of day creating an illusion of dimensionlessness to his figure his legs dashed like angry brush strokes against the white blue back drop of the metropolis skyline he faced. As I watched he took a slim black phone from an inner pocket of his suit. I held the imagine of a man of shadow, reaching into himself and withdrawing some strange black souvenir for the pleasure of us normal people burdened to exist in all three dimensions.
 I chastised myself for letting my mind wander, I was already spinning tales of shadow realm creatures and villains. This was a time for focus. One of the most important encounters of my life was about to take place. Reflecting, I had no idea that so much could change so quickly. But I will come to that later.
His conversation finished he snapped the phone closed with a decisive snick. The sound cut the air of the still room and I realized that for the minutes I had stood there I had neither moved nor spoken. I had simply listened to his voice make pleasantries with who I could only assume was a business colleague. It struck me too that I had not paid any mind to the words spoken. Only that a conversation had been held and similarly resolved while I looked on. Like a screen had been brought between me and this man in black, a screen that muffled experience beyond it.
I had answered an ad. Most people don't put any stock in classified ads anymore but I had been paging through looking for a couch when I had seen a small advert cramped into the bottom left corner of the last page that simply said "You are needed." I expected some sort of charity case or religious motivations even a suicide group. But all there was beneath it was a number. It was a Saturday and I had been nursing my third cup of coffee idly planning the rest of my empty day. I would watch television, read, warm up some chili I had in the fridge... (and then a thought came unbidden into my head) I could call that number.
"Please sit." The man had turned. His dark, sharp shoes made a soft click, not unlike his phone, against the marble tile. He made a large sweeping gesture that finished to indicate a pair of white sofas in the right corner of the large dimly lit office. His voice was frightening. I can't explain precisely why but deep in my core something thrilled against those two words. Yet at the same time another part of my, dictated I'm sure by human social consciousness, murmured some variation of "thanks and took a seat."
"Would you like something to drink?" He asked and the hair on the back of my neck stood on end. His voice was sonorous, deep and with an almost too careful attention to tone. But something still frightened me about it. Some small voice in my head that could scream nothing but "run." crushed out by the larger more reasonable ones. "No thank you I'm fine."
He made his way over to a cabinet of fine coffee brown wood and poured himself a finger of some amber liquor. As he walked away from the window his features took on sharper focus. He was tall, I could see now. Slim, with slicked dirty yellow hair, flat against his head. He wore a black tie against a starched white shirt.
I had called the number, sitting there at my small kitchen table. And the voice at the other end had belonged to that of a cheery secretary who identified herself as "Sandi" and before I knew it I had set up an interview for that Tuesday evening for a job. The three interviewers had all been very impressed with my previous jobs, the smattering of volunteer work I had done, my degree. I hadn't know anyone could be impressed with a Comparative Communications degree and not sound patronizing. But what these three were really interested in were my stories. I've been to more job interviews than I'd care to admit but no one had ever asked anything like they had. "Tell us exactly how you felt when your first pet died." "What do you remember most about the year you were thirteen and describe it to us." "What is your favorite sound and how often do you use it." I'm not ashamed to admit that more than once I asked them to repeat themselves. It seemed more like a therapy session than a job interview and even more like a bizarre personality test than that.
"Are you sure?" He made his way over to me and sat down on the sofa opposite me. "Its a very good cognac, recommended to me personally by a friend in the business."
"No thank you. I don't drink." saying no to him was like subduing a dangerous animal. Even such a trivial denial felt like a brush with death.
"Really? Now why is that?" He leaned forward, his pale green eyes looking into mine. "Is it personal? Family perhaps? Religion? Or something more bizarre? Go on I'm interested now." A small smile crept up his face.
I thought of lions, of snakes, of the cold calculating predator that humanity has reviled in myth for hundreds of years. My mind flowed like a river into recollections and modifications of Rudyard Kipling, the Bible and Tang Dynasty poetry.
"Nothing like that. I simply feel that anything that could impair my judgement would not be wise now."
"And right you are. But Richard you and I need to get right to it. I think both of us have fairly limited time. Do you have any idea why you're here? What this is even about?"
As soon as the first interview ended they had immediately began talk of scheduling a second. They gave me a  small card, thick paper, embossed, with a signature, a time and an address written on it. No name, no company. Just a scrawl in the corner that could only have been a name.
"I have no idea." I said and I folded my hands in my lap, leaning back against the upholstery.
"Before I explain. I'd like to ask you something. Because once we get underway I can't say you'll feel as you do now."
The unconscious fear that tinged his voice had ebbed to a low growl, a small discomfort.
"Every man draws a line in the sand and says 'beyond this I will not go.'" This strange, dark business man, whose name I didn't even know extended a hand to me.
"Do you ever plan on crossing your line?"
I took his hand. And we shook. Knowing what I do now I can't say I would have done things differently. But he was completely right. Nothing is the same.
"Yes." I said.