Wild Fiction

The boys turned their heads and looked in the direction Rebecca had indicated. The man was sitting by himself. On a plate in front of him was a solitary roll that he was picking at. Next to the plate was a notepad, and in his right hand, poised over the notepad, he held a pen. He appeared to be aware of the attention he was receiving from them. His eyes kept on flicking past their table as if he was looking at the table next to them or over them at a poster on the far wall. Crumbs of bread speckled his thick black beard.
‘There’re many strange people in this town. I think you’d be more out of place if you were normal here than abnormal,’ Conrad said dismissing her comments.
They had almost finished their breakfast when the strange man left the restaurant with his bag slung over his shoulder. Conrad and James had returned to talking about football. Rebecca watched the bearded man over her cup of coffee that she cupped between her hands. As he passed their table, she noticed a piece of paper slip out of his hand and fall at her feet. Instinctively she made a move to call him back but something in the back of her mind told her not to and she froze in her seat. It was almost as if he had dropped the piece of paper on purpose and not accidentally. She glanced around the café. Conrad and James were safely engaged in football conversation. Nobody else had noticed the piece of paper fall.
She slid her foot over and dragged it back under her seat. Pretending to scratch her ankle she bent down and lifted her shoe up to look at it. It appeared to be a note but it had been folded a couple of times. She raised her foot out of her shoe and, picking up the folded paper, slid it under her stocking and into the shoe. Excusing herself, she went to the toilet.
She locked herself inside a cubicle and unfolded the note. For a moment Rebecca wondered if it was intended for her or perhaps James or Conrad, or if it had genuinely been dropped by accident and was intended for somebody completely different?
This is a warning from a friend. Not everything is how it appears. All is not black and white. You are being used beyond your imagination. I can help. Meet me at your convenience. My phone number is 0443 753 9848. Send me an SMS.
Retir W. Doog
It must be for her, she thought. She walked back into the café. James and Conrad had the paper spread across the table and were both talking at the same time and pointing at the pictures in the sport pages. Neither of them noticed her walk behind them and out onto the pavement to the public phone. She called the number. She had not planned the call and did not know what to say. In a panic, she hung up before it was answered. Moments later the public phone she had used rang. It startled her and she picked up the receiver with a shaking hand.
‘You’ve just called me, can I help you?’ the voice at the other end said.
Rebecca was taken aback and did not say anything.
‘Hello, is anyone there?’ the voice asked.
Rebecca regained her composure and said in a cool and even tone: ‘You left me a message.’
It was obvious from the change in his voice that he had become excited. ‘You’re the blonde girl with the two blokes aren’t you?’ he asked.
Rebecca hesitated, she placed her left hand next to the button on the phone box that would with one press disconnect the call. ‘Yes,’ Rebecca said cautiously.
‘It’s important that we meet. There’re things you need to know.’
‘We don’t need to meet. You can tell me now, on the phone.’
‘It’s too dangerous to speak on the phone, we have to meet face to face.’
‘What’s your name?’
‘I don’t want to tell you on this line. I signed it on the note. You have to trust me.’
‘Give me a reason to trust you?’
‘Okay, you’re not as real as you would like to be. I know all about what you’re doing. I can’t say anymore on this line. Please, you must trust me.’
Rebecca’s hands became cold and clammy. She realised that he knew that she was fictional. ‘I’m not promising anything, but I’ll consider meeting you. Where and when?’
‘I can’t say on this line. Send me an SMS from your mobile and I’ll reply with the details.’
Rebecca muttered a goodbye and hung up the phone. She looked around. There was no sign of Retir W. Doog and there was no one waiting to use the phone box. She pulled out her mobile phone and sent him a brief message. Forty-five seconds later her phone beeped and the following SMS appeared on her mobile’s screen:
The Rising Sun,