The Fifteen Minute Novel is a novel written fifteen minutes at a time with each week day’s section starting with the sentence from the previous day. At least it is attempting to be a novel. For now I am just aiming at one continuous story, worked on for fifteen minutes each day. Started Friday January 1st, 2021 (in case you want to search for the beginning. I can’t wait to see where it ends up. It could be good, or it could be a mess. We’ll have to see. For now, here is today’s fifteen minutes.
Day 71: He turned back to the door.
He turned back to the door. Dinner would have to wait. “Well at least it is something that will reheat easily,” he muttered to himself. James dropped his work bag in the extra chair hoping Carson wouldn’t choose to stay.
James went to the door and despite knowing it had to be Carson, he looked through the Judas hole to see who stood in front of it. It was Carson and he did not look happy. James sighed and wondered what he had done now.
James opened the door. “Agent Carson,” James said. Carson hissed an looked around making certain no one overheard him.
“Tim, you call me Tim,” he said in a low whisper as he pushed his way inside.
James stepped aside to let him in. “I wasn’t aware your name was Tim,” James said. He closed the door and slid the bolt home.
“It isn’t,” Carson said. “It’s what you are to call me.”
“Did you ever tell me to call you Tim?” James asked.
Carson paused mid-step, tilted his head and thought about it a moment. “No, I suppose I didn’t.”
“So Tim, what brings you here this evening?” James said deciding Carson’s agitation was more important than anything else.
“There has been a development,” Carson said.
“A development,” James repeated.
“Yes,” Carson said. “I’m supposed to bring you in.”
“Bring me in,” James repeated. He felt idiotic for simply repeating what was told too him but Carson’s words brought a cold fear rising up inside him. He thought of the old man and he thought of the people he was testifying against. In the week of normality, it had almost slipped his mind that he wasn’t just an average citizen. He wasn’t just a mid-level accountant at a small company. He was someone that someone somewhere wanted dead. He swallowed.
“To the office,” Carson clarified, seeming to believe James didn’t understand. “I was supposed to bring you in right after work but you were late.”
“I went out with people from the office in an attempt to blend in,” James said. He gestured to the table. “Then got take out.”
“Food will have to wait, we were due in the office an hour ago.” James nodded, his hands going numb. He almost fumbled as he picked up his keys from the kitchen table. The scent of his dinner wafted up, this time making him feel vaguely ill rather than enticed. He left it where it was and followed Carson back out of the apartment. His hands were shaking slightly as he locked the door. They descended the stairs to Carson’s car.
Night was descending and the air felt soft and velvety against his skin as it blew across the parking lot. James tucked his keys into his pocket and reached for the door handle of Carson’s passenger’s side door.
Ten til Midnight 