Ten Years Late Novels & Stories

Elena’s voice trembled. “They searched the national matching database for eight months for this heart, and this was the only one. My Arthur waited for eight months. He waited every single day. He said that once the heart arrived, he could stay with me for another ten years. Ten years. Ten years is enough for him to finish the projects he was working on and enough for him to watch his granddaughter go to college.”

Sophia suddenly ran in front of me, blocking my way. "Alex! Stop talking like that! I know you must’ve been furious when I left without a word, but I’m back now! Stop saying things you don’t mean." Empty words? Things I don’t mean? What made her think that? I thought I had made myself perfectly clear. She suddenly reached for the pendant around my neck, yanking it out from under my shirt. "This... this is the charm I gave you when we first got together. It’s been over a decade. The cord is already worn out, yet you still wear it..."

As the sun set and the sky gradually darkened, I still hadn't returned. Helen and Daniel became even more anxious. "Miles! Miles! "Miles! Come home! Hurry back, it's getting dark!" Daniel shouted in every direction. In the quiet mountain village, only the wind moved through the treetops with a rustling sound. Helen lost patience and asked Grandpa, "Dad, what time does Miles usually come back?" He gave her only a long silence. Once night fell, Grandpa crawled onto the bed and curled up. The wiring had been broken for years. He had spent all those years in darkness.

'Ten days' "You are kind enough, bu...." "No 'but' Ms. Schaeffer." "Fine...Ten days Mr. Reid."

Sophie asked, her tone now icy. She had meticulously examined all the available information on Charlie, a 13-year-old music prodigy who had mysteriously disappeared during the peak of his fame, only to reappear a decade later. Throughout those ten years, he had left no trace, as if he had vanished into thin air. Now, as the industry had nearly forgotten the once-famous singer, he was making an unexpected comeback.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Castillo.” “It’s okay. And it’s been ten months, going on eleven. ’Bout time you started calling me Andre. You’re making me feel old, girl.” XXX

“I–I was told eleven—” He stood and walked toward me slowly. His perfectly tailored suit made him even more intimidating than he already looked. He stopped a few feet away from me, taking a quick glance at his wristwatch that looked like it could pay my rent for an entire year. “The meeting was scheduled for ten-forty-five. Which makes you thirteen minutes late. That’s unacceptable.” My heart stuttered, was I already getting fired from a job I was yet to get? “I’m sorry. I got the time wrong. I—”

But he was really serious. We would finally have an agreement. An understanding. Not forced labor. It felt… exhilarating. A portion of the weight I had carried for so long slipped from my shoulders. Some of the tension that had lodged itself in my bones since our third meeting—since the moment my fate was sealed—finally began to drain away. Still, ten years? As beings that live very long lives, a decade was not much. It was a blink in the grand scheme of things. But for living the life that is my presence, every day was long enough. Ten years sounded like ten centuries.

I wasn’t used to asking. He studied me for a moment, his expression turning thoughtful before he nodded. “In ten days.” It felt like a lifetime, but I agreed. We exchanged names after that—briefly, almost like an afterthought. Cassian Blackthorne. I didn’t realize then how often I would come to repeat it. I waited, counting every single one of those days. Ten days shouldn’t have felt that long, but when you have nothing else to look forward to… it does. By the time the tenth came, it felt like ten years had passed instead.

Quinn was on the point of refusing when Quick played his trump card. “Josh Cooper says hi.” Quinn groaned and thumped back onto the pillows. “Tell him to fuck off.” Quick laughed in his ear. “Ten o’clock. Don’t be late.” He disconnected the call, leaving Quinn staring up at the ceiling with a mouth full of cotton from too much whiskey the night before and the realization he had to move or he’d be late. Quinn managed a succinct, “Fuck!” At thirty-nine he was too old for this shit.