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 93: Perhaps, with luck, he might find something of value in the text.
Perhaps, with luck, he might find something of value in the text. It was at least something to do. His unease at the quiet of the room faded as he read. He tried to see beyond the self- promotion of the book to find any paths that may lead him to anything.
He was two chapters in when the door at the front of the room, the one they had taken Morris though, opened. James looked up from his book. Walking towards him was the man who greeted them in the parking lot.
‘Although greeted might not be the correct term,’ James thought as he stood up. He certainly hadn’t been welcome.
“Tucker,” the man said by way of introduction. He held out his hand for James to shake. James shifted his book to his left hand and Shook Tucker’s hand.
“James,” he replied. “Is Morris going to be all right?”
“He should be, but they are keeping him overnight. You’ll need to stay as well. “We’ve got someone looking at your place right now. They’ll monitor it overnight and we’ll reassess in the morning.”
“I see,” James replied. He wondered if he’d be part of the reassessing or if he would simply be told the outcome. He suspected the latter. His status as package and not person had been reinstated.
“Follow me.”
James nodded and was surprised that he was led back through the doors where they took Morriss and not out of the door and somewhere else.
“We’ve put you in the room next to Morris.” Tucker informed him.
“So this is the safe house and not just a hospital,” James replied.
“Something like that,” Tucker said. His voice was not unfriendly, but it was clear he didn’t really feel like offering explanations.
James shut his mouth and followed along. Once again he reminded himself that these weren’t friends or even acquaintances. Agents fell into a strange category that he found difficult to pin down on his mental map. All of his life he was told pleasant conversation was better than awkward silence and he was very good at the art of casually talking to strangers or semi-strangers. It was the people he knew well where his communication seemed to fail. Agents seemed to have no use for the professional chatter that served him well hi entire life.
James let the thought side and he followed along after Tucker. They walked down a hallway lined with doors. Most of them were shut. They finally approached one that was open and Tucker stopped.
“You awake?” he asked. His voice was more friendly than when he spoke to James.
“Yeah, I’m awake.” The voice was a bit rusty, but it sounded like Morris and inside James felt a spurt of relief. Morris may be an agent, but at the moment Morris was his agent. Tucker stepped to the side.
James stepped into the doorway. “You look better,” James said after looking at Morris. His face was still a little wan but the color in his cheeks was more pink and less gray than it was before. He looked injured but recovering rather than injured and possibly dying.
Ten til Midnight 