Wild Fiction

‘Betelgeuse Fullroy,’ the author said without emotion. ‘Betelgeuse Fullroy still hasn’t been recaptured and it’s a known fact that you’re his target. Think of him as Islam, you as Salman Rushdie, and his passion to get even with you as the Intafada. Had it escaped your attention that we have a twenty-four hour police watch on this house? Every time you leave the house you have a police escort. Did you think that was coincidence or that they just fancied you?’
Rebecca was silent for a moment. ‘What if he’s dead? What if someone killed him and nobody knows about it yet?’
‘This is formula fiction and that’s against the rules of formula fiction. Rule forty-seven states that coincidence and convenience can get your characters into trouble but can’t get them out of trouble. They have to overcome the barriers and challenges you place in front of them in a realistic and innovative way. I can’t just let you walk away from this without a fight.’
There was a noise in the garden outside the house. Rebecca and Genevieve rushed to the window and looked out. The bodies of two uniformed policemen were lying in the driveway, motionless. Running up the driveway towards the house was Betelgeuse Fullroy. In his hands he held a Heckler and Koch MP5 carbine - presumably taken from one of the dead policemen. He looked up at the window and straight into the eyes of Rebecca and Genevieve. Immediately, he pointed the gun up at them and fired a spray of bullets at the window.
Rebecca pushed Genevieve away from her and they fell to the floor on either side of the window. The glass exploded inwards as shards of glass flew across the room, embedding themselves in the wood and furniture and books.
‘Are you all right?’ Rebecca shouted at Genevieve as she crawled over to her.
‘I’m fine,’ Genevieve said. ‘I’m just scared.
The author came out from under his desk. ‘I’m also all right if you care to know.’
‘Not really,’ Rebecca replied. ‘I want to know how you’re going to get us out of this mess. He’s going to kill you as well when he gets here.’
There was the sound of breaking glass coming from downstairs.
‘He’s going to be in here and up those stairs very quickly,’ Rebecca said. ‘You’d better think up something clever to get us out of this one.’
The author jumped up and ran over to the bookshelf. He pulled out a large bible.
‘Now is not the bloody time to be praying,’ Rebecca shouted. She pulled Genevieve to her feet and across the room and together they crouched down behind the sofa.
The author opened the bible and pulled out a Smith and Western six shooter revolver. An imprint of the gun remained in the hollowed out bible. He rushed over to the sofa and joined Rebecca and Genevieve behind it.