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 135: “But that doesn’t mean I won’t shoot if you don’t answer my questions.”
“But that doesn’t mean I won’t shoot if you don’t answer my questions.”
“I understand,” James said. He felt some of his fear die down and his heart rate slow a little. It was still faster than normal, but felt less like he was running a marathon and more like he was out for a jog and chugging his way up hill.
While he was still certain that the gunman would shoot him if need be, he didn’t think he was about to be tortured for information he didn’t have. It made things slightly less terrifying.
“Is this your first interrogation,” James asked.
“No,” the man shot back. “I’ve done this loads of times.”
He watched the gunman wipe is free hand on his pants, switch the gun to the now dry hand, wipe off his other hand and transfer it back. ‘Nervous sweats,’ James thought.
“Well this is my first interrogation by gunpoint,” James said. “It’s not really a big part of my world.”
The gunman laughed. It was a harsh bark of sound. “I bet,” he said. “What are you anyway? Some sort of white collar criminal?”
“I’m an accountant,” James replied thinking of his current job. It was a more concise title than the one he left behind. And truthfully it was getting harder to think of himself as the person he left behind.
“What happened, you noticed a clerical error and turned your big bad company in?” the gunman laughed again.
“Something like that,” James replied. While the man claimed to be an associate of Thomas Grant he knew very little about him and James wondered what sort of questions he was likely to ask when he finally got around to asking questions.
“So Mr. Accountant,” the man said. “How long do you think it will take your agent to get here?”
“My …agent,” James replied.
The gunman smiled. It wasn’t a pleasant sight. “I gave you enough time to call him. And I saw you put the phone away before I took you inside. So how long before he gets here?”
“I don’t know,” James said.
The gunman frowned. “How long has it taken in the past?”
“We were at a different place and he was next door to me so it took seconds,” James said.
The gin man looked around as if registering the moving boxes. “Right,” he said half to himself. “New place.” He looked back to James. “Then I guess we wait.”
“You don’t actually have any questions for me do you?” James asked.
“Nope,” he said. “You wouldn’t know the answers. Your agent most likely has Thomas. When he gets here, I’ll give him you in exchange for Thomas.”
“A hostage exchange,” James replied. “I don’t think that will actually work.”
“Of course it will work. They need you to get the company you ratted out, don’t they? They’ll have to exchange you for him. And then everyone will leave happy.”
“Right,” James said. He somehow doubted that it would play out as the gunman thought but as he saw movement in the back yard, through the window behind the gunman, James decided it was best not to comment. He tried not to look through the window so the gunman would not be alerted to Tucker’s arrival.
Ten til Midnight 