This was meant to be a one-shot, but it was taking too long, so I broke it up. Here you go: Chapter one.

It was a dark night when she came. The shutters on my window were parted slightly, showing the flashes of lightning outside. I hate lightning. Not because it scares me, of course. That's not it at all. But each flash of lightning causes a power surge, which makes my desk lamp flicker, casting eerie shadows on the walls before pitching the room into blackness. No, I'm not afraid of lightning- I'm afraid of the dark.

Who am I? Some call me Fred. I'm not sure why they do; I guess they just like the name Fred, and don't know anyone who goes by that name. Those are the kind of people that need to get out more. Others call me Line- A. Line. Those who know my first name are sworn to secrecy, lest they want to die a slow, painful death. Needless to say, I keep information about my name far from masochists.

The phone rang at about quarter to eleven. I shook my head slowly, reaching for the phone. The poor, desperate soul. Very few called the office past its closing hours, and those that did were usually in dire need of help. I could see it now: a young blonde girl, a tear dripping down her cheek, was on the other end. Her father had been murdered, and she didn't know who else to turn to. She'd come to the office that night, and talk with me. Who knew where that would lead? I tried not to fraternize with my clients, but she might really need the moral support.

My mouth set in a grim line, I picked up the phone. "Good evening. A. Line, Private I. speaking."

"Alvin!" cried a high-pitched wailing voice on the other end of the phone. "Where've you been? I thought we were gonna have dinner tonight!"

I slapped my hand to my forehead. I didn't need this tonight. "Mother, please," I replied. "You knew I had a lot of paperwork tonight. And please, call me 'Line'...someone may be tapping my phone."

"Paperwork, Shmaperwork," replied the voice, thick with its usual Brooklyn accent. "You were probably playing with those trains again."

I nudged the train set further under the desk with the corner of my foot. "I have no idea what you're referring to."

Just then, a knock sounded on my door. "I have to go, Mother," I said in a low voice, hanging up before she could protest. Then, clearing my throat, I called, "It's open."

Some sounds of turning the handle were heard. "No it's not!" called a voice from outside. A feminine voice, with a touch of an English accent. Could it be my young blonde? I got up and unlocked the door for her.

She shuffled in, drenched from the rain. She wasn't a blonde, but a light blue, and had angles in all the right places. There wasn't a mark on any of her four lovely sections, and I knew then that I had found heaven.

"Have a seat, ma'am?" I asked, gesturing toward an old chair in the corner. It was torn in places, with both springs and stuffing poking out, but I got it at a thrift store for fifty cents, and it was too hard for me to let it go.

She shook her head, sending a couple of little water droplets spraying across the room. "There's no time," she replied. "I have a puzzle that only you can solve, and I need you now."

I raised my eyebrows and gave her a smug smile. I didn't even know her name, and she wanted me already! I decided to play hard-to-get. "Ma'am, I'm afraid you're going much too fast for me."

"You don't understand!" she cried, grasping my shirt collar and pulling me toward her. I marveled at how forward she was. It was hard to find aggressive women anywhere these days. "I'm at a level where I need to go fast! Everything's filling up, and it's more than I can handle! You're the only one that can keep me together, and I need you right now!"

Uh oh. Chicks with baggage were never good, especially not for a one-nighter. I gently removed her fingers from my collar. "Listen, sweetie, I think you have the wrong guy."

She backed up, a hurt look in her eye. "You don't understand," she repeated, sinking down in agony onto the broken chair. She shot back up, a spring having poked her in an uncomfortable place, and faced me again. "I've tried all the other guys," she continued. "Then I heard about you. You're the only one who can fill this void."

What? She'd tried other guys? This must be safer than I thought, then. They must not have been able to satisfy her, so she talked to some other girls, and heard about me. That explained it. "I guess you heard I was...pretty reliable, huh?"

She chuckled somewhat cynically. "On the contrary," she said. "I heard that you've never been there when you were needed the most." My face fell. "However," she continued, noting my pained look, "I've also heard that if someone can get a hold of you, you can fix the whole situation."

I mentally chewed on that for a moment. I did tend to make myself scarce after...meeting with my clients. I tried not to talk to most of them once they'd...thanked me for my detective services, especially not to those with burly husbands. That last bit sent up a red flag. "Are you married?" I asked her.

She raised an eyebrow. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Well," I said, "many of my clients' husbands have approached me after I...helped them with personal problems, and none of those husbands were too happy about it."

She looked back toward my door. "A. Line, Private Investigator," she read. "Ok, good. I thought I was in the wrong office or something."

I smiled. "Why would you say that?"

"Well, you're making yourself sound like some kind of man whore. I just need you to solve my case."

My smile was gone. "But...I thought you needed me to fill your void...and keep you together!"

She gagged, a little melodramatically. "You're disgusting!" she said. "What kind of sick mind would come up with something like that? I want you to fill the void in my puzzle, not in me!"

I laughed nervously. "That's what I meant, of course. It just came out wrong, that's all. Now, what problem did you need me to solve?"

She sighed. I noticed that there were slight bags under her eyes, and thought that she must've been all over the place looking for help. That filled me with pride until I realized that she'd tried everyone else's help first. Then I just felt like a square. "Well," she said, "it's kind of a puzzling situation. I was assigned a limited amount of time to figure it out, and I'm quickly approaching my limit. I have all the pieces but one, and you seem to be my missing piece."

"Me?" I asked. "Surely you're joking."

"I'm not joking," she replied. "And don't call me Shirley."