Wow! First real post! It only took me forever!
This, as the title implies, is a brief excerpt from a short story I’ve written, entitled “FEDERAL.” Specifically, this was once the beginning, but I cut it out and started the story from what was originally the approximate halfway point instead. I might post the full, revised story here eventually. We’ll see.
I quite like the protagonist, Jill Carter, and have thought about her character a lot. Hopefully, maybe one day, I’ll flesh her out completely. Maybe even in a novel…
Also, I know the tense shifts a bit. I have trouble sticking with exclusively Past Tense or Present Tense. Not sure why.
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By the time her husband wakes up at 7:00 AM, Jill Carter has already run half a mile and come back again. Then she had a shower, got changed, made breakfast for two and even started a fresh pot of coffee. Like clockwork, almost every single day, she was pouring herself a cup just as he was dragging himself out of bed. Of course, Jill was very much a morning person. She enjoyed waking up with the dawn and had been doing so for many years. Her husband, meanwhile, would very much have liked to have slept in to 10:00 AM or later. He despised getting up early, it was one of the main reasons he’d strived to be successfully self-employed, but he got up anyway. Given the long and often irregular hours Jill worked, the early mornings were one of the few guaranteed opportunities they had to spend time together.
He shuffles out of the bedroom, bleary-eyed and groggy, and into the brightly lit, open-plan living room of their quintessentially upper-middle-class condo. Its wide, clear windows held a nice view of the city, though they had both come to take it for granted. Jill puts the coffee pot down and sits at one end of the small, circular table by the window, which was where they ate most of their meals. She reads the news on her phone as she drinks. He passes her by without a word and heads straight into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.
A few minutes later, Roger Carter emerges, freshly showered and mostly awake, but still scruffy and shaking off the last of the morning’s hazy feelings. He sits down across from her, pours himself some coffee and starts eating the simple breakfast she’d prepared: little more than cereal and toast, because between the two of them, he did almost all of the cooking.
“Morning, hon.” She says.
“Morning.” He replies, stifling a yawn.
“Sleep well?”
He sighs. “No, not really.”
She looks up from her phone, mostly concerned but also a bit self-righteous. “Again, huh? I’m telling you, it’s because you don’t do any exercise.”
“Yeah, yeah…” He grumbles.
“You’re just going to gain weight if you don’t listen to me.” She says. “And by the way,” she continues, rubbing her chin. “You could really do with a shave.”
“I’m growing a beard.” He says, defiantly.
Roger has a strong, very masculine jawline that, at the moment, is covered by a mess of uneven, scratchy, dark brown hairs. The trend continues along his sideburns and into the hair on his head which, while clean and recently brushed, still seems somehow shabby, much like the loose, white, hoodie sweater and faded blue jeans he is wearing.
His appearance stands out in stark contrast to that of his wife, whose bright, blonde hair is neatly arranged into a bob cut that is almost as orderly as the black suit she wears over her pristine, white shirt, accompanied by her black pants and deeply sensible flats, also black.
“Yeah, sure you are.” She scoffs.
He narrows his eyes at her. “You don’t think I could?”
“Couldn’t and shouldn’t!” She says. “If you grew a beard, I’d shave it off your face while you were sleeping!” She laughs at this, but he doesn’t. It takes a her a second, but she does notice.
“Oh, lighten up.” She says. “I’m just kidding. Besides, statistically speaking, men with coarse beards are more likely to be deemed suspicious by police.”
He rolls his eyes and grumbles “Oh, I don’t need another lecture.”
“I’m just saying, from a purely psychological perspective, it’s a pretty interesting phenomenon. Speaking from personal experience, I know-”
“For Christ’s sake!” He snaps, abruptly. “Could you leave Special Agent Carter at work for once and just be Jill for a while?!”
He frowns deeply into his coffee. She glares at him from across the table. The ensuing silence is long and uncomfortable, and during it, neither of them moves. Eventually, though, Jill stands up.
“I have to go to work.” She mutters, placing her cup – only half empty – down on the table.
“Jill…” He sighs. “Look, I just meant-”
“Who’s ‘Jill?’” She snaps. “I’m ‘Special Agent Carter,’ remember?”
“Hon, please,” he says, trying hard to keep his tone level. “I’m trying-”
“But if I see anyone with that name, I’ll be sure to let them know you want to see them.” She snatches up her purse as she heads for the door.
“Hey, come on-” He starts.
“God forbid I bring any habits home with me. Some of us actually have to leave the house to go to work! You know, because we have real jobs!”
“Jill!”
She slams the door shut behind her.
A Straightforward Enigma 