The elevator took forever to arrive. Jonathan felt worse with every passing minute, like he’d been run over by a truck. He leant into the wall, granting his tired body some support. He closed his eyes, unable to focus because of the headache that again spread to his temples and the nape of his neck. Champagne couldn’t do this. And he was used to drinking a lot more before he felt this bad. He reached out to summon the elevator again. “Hello?” The soft voice came from the elevator car. “Are you joining me? We’ll be in time for the opening.” His hand froze halfway the elevator button. For a moment it seemed like he couldn’t breathe anymore. He hadn’t noticed the elevator’s arrival or…
Mina Witteman – author | editor | teacher of creative writing
Posts from the “Books” Category
A piercing and continuous ringing woke him. Jonathan was halfway opening his eyes when the racket stopped. He nestled his head deeper into the pillow and pulled the duvet cover tight. A vague headache surfaced and settled behind his eyes. He tried to moisten his lips, but his tongue was so dry it seemed like a grater scaling the skin from his lips. He shut out the pounding inside his skull and dozed off, only wakened by the persistent ringing once more. He pushed himself up against the headboard. Again, the noise stopped before he was able to determine where it came from and for a moment he thought he had imagined it. Despite the headache and the cotton balls that seemed to have replaced his brain, he knew…
Tagged: Amsterdam, compression algorithm, Dark Fiber, Internet, New York, Silicon Valley, thriller, Turing
The cover held a soup plate filled with a steamy orange soup. A sprig of green floated in the middle. The briny smell made his stomach rumble. He was hungry. He plopped into the chair and spooned up the soup. The hint of alcohol in it boosted his confidence. The burger he found inside the other cover was dry but tasty. He washed it away with three glasses of champagne. He sat back and looked out the window, at the bright blue May sky. He dabbed the plate with is finger and licked off the last crumbs, before he placed the plates and covers back on the trolley. Then Jonathan slipped into the new jeans. He still had an hour or so before Victoria and…
Except for the final three lines of the message, Jonathan couldn’t make head or tail from her rambling. Algorithms? NDA? A total mystery. What didn’t puzzle him was Victoria’s apparent preference for the exclamation mark. As if her nail got locked on the key. He sure could teach her a thing or two about writing. He left the mail unanswered and went in search of the clothes, she had mentioned. The bag was from de Bijenkorf department store and sat under the low bench at the foot end of the bed. He pulled it out and emptied its contents on the bed. Five boxershorts, two shirts, a pair of jeans, five pairs of socks and a couple of Tees fell out. Five? That girl had plans for…
Tagged: Amsterdam, compression algorithm, Dark Fiber, Feuilleton, Internet, Krasnapolsky, techno, thriller, Turing
Jonathan cracked open the door. The absence of the shrill shrieks and the overpowering physical presence of Victoria Walter had left a powerful silence in the suite. On the far end the laptop, or a laptop, sat on the desk, opened but with a black screen, the Moleskine notebook, the fountain pen it its crease, beside it, the Crumpler bag on the floor. Jonathan crossed the room and plumped down into the chair. He swiveled round and scanned the suite and the adjoining bedroom, turning the key card over and over in his fingers. No backpack. With his thumb Jonathan caressed the laptop, but when his index finger hitched on the spacer the screen flashed to life. A shock sent goosebumps over his skin as he stared at…
“You must be tired.” Matt Turing startled Jonathan with his question, which sounded more like a statement. “Let’s go to your room.” “I—I don’t have a room. I wanted to—I had to return this…” Jonathan stammered, taken off guard by the sudden twist. They both ignored him and Turing pulled him along without any ceremony. Within three rushed breaths, he found himself in an elevator with Victoria. The elevator shot up to the top floor, smooth and silent. Even Victoria didn’t say a thing. She had stepped away from him, the second the door had closed. Now, she studied her nails, like the guest service’s girl had done, as if he wasn’t in the elevator with her at all. When the door opened, Turing stood waiting…
The woman, or girl, ignored Jonathan’s obvious embarrassment and held the Tee in front of him. Standing on tiptoe, she titled her head backwards. “Oh, Dallas,” she cooed. “You’re so tall!” She thrust the Tee in his hands and chattered on about how she always had wanted to be taller and how she envied Amsterdam girls and their infinite legs. He couldn’t concentrate on the words that left her pink-painted lips like the tiniest hailstones in an unexpected summer storm. Every now and again he caught the name Dallas, but that was all. After she shoved a conference folder and a memory stick in the Crumpler, without showing any embarrassment for poking around in someone else’s bag, she took him by the wrist, a cool and small hand,…
Tagged: Amsterdam, compression algorithm, Dark Fiber, Feuilleton, New York, Silicon Valley, thriller, Turing
Mina Witteman 