Wild Fiction

Rebecca picked up the phone. ‘What’s the number at Possum Lane? That’s where they are.’
‘There’s no phone there.’
Rebecca picked up the first pizza delivery pamphlet in the pile of papers next to the phone and called them. ‘I’d like a family sized American Hot ASAP...Yes...17 Possum Lane...and as a favour could you please add a note to it...yes I know but please could you do this as a special favour...just put “hurry back, we need you, Rebecca”...thanks...thirty minutes...bye.’
The author sat down on a stool and watched every move Rebecca made. ‘So who’s this person that you know that’s kidnapped Genevieve?’ he asked as she hung up the receiver. ‘And how the hell does he know I have the bearer bonds? And what’s this about “the other twenty-nine bearer bonds”?’ I thought I had thirty bearer bonds?’
‘Retir W. Doog is his name,’ she said looking away from him.
‘Retir W. Doog?’
‘He’s a writer, a good writer if you believe what he says.’
‘Carry on.’
‘He said he’d put me in a story and make me famous. I said no. I said I was staying with you.’ Rebecca flicked her eyes at him and then away again. ‘You’re a bad writer but I have faith in you. I think that with enough revisions you’re going to get this story right and we’ll make it to the end. I don’t trust this Retir character and I think he’d destroy us in the end. Ultimately, all you writers are the same. You say you do it for the love of writing and the entertainment you want to create for the reader’s benefit but all you want is fame and glory for yourselves. You pay lip service to your characters about the acknowledgement they’ll receive while creating them but when it comes to the crunch, you never do. How many Whitbread or Booker Prize Winners have you heard thank the characters in the books they’ve written? Name one. They thank their publishers, their editors, their mothers, their other significant halves, and they’ll even thank their dogs before thanking the characters that made their books come alive.’
The author wiped his hand across his brow. ‘I’m not going to win any prizes if Retir W. Doog steals all my characters. I won’t have anybody to thank. This’ll be a story without people. How does he know about the bonds Rebecca?’ The author looked into her eyes and she looked away.
‘I don’t know,’ she answered.
‘Are you sure?’