THE QUIET LAND

A Letter To Mr. Wright by BOSS ALI

A LETTER TO MR WRIGHT
"It's been two hours now, I am not safe," agitated Rachael said, her sweaty palm strangling the wheel as she turn left into a street.
"So I am going to die today, just like that!" she thought with conviction in her mind. Now, she could not help but think of what life would become after her demise. Her family, her employees, and most especially, her faithful audience, will they be able to give her a befitting burial? How will the entire would receive her obituary!
"Well, I can't be afraid of death now. It is certain that I'll die one day," she said in a melodious tone to soothe herself. She had to suppress the bitter felling of fear boiling up in her stomach. Checking again, she glanced at the side mirror of her car and all she could see was Mr  Death behind her in form of a car that has been trailing her for the past two hours.
Suddenly, she made a decision with determination—that she had refused to die! With shaky hands, she dialed her husband's number.
"Dear customer...." the phone answered with a statement she had been dreading. Her husband's phone was not going through. And death was behind her!
"I need to do something, very fast!" she whispered as she managed to dial her manager's number.
"Hello, Ma'am do you need my help?" Mr Ade answered.
  The voice of her manager was like Abraham's voice beckoning to her to get away from hell in which she was and to come over to the good heaven. She was so relieved.
"See, I need you to help me, I am driving and someone  has been trailing me now for the past two hours. Please try your possible best to help me here. I beg you," she reported frantically.
But silence replied her, and then she noticed that her phone had switched off while she was talking. She checked her rear mirror and could see that the green car was coming closer to her. And now she was in a great panic that she even ignored the threatening ache in her head. Then several questions entered into her ears to her brain. It seemed as if she was in her study during her ideation on her next novel.
"Who did I offend? The government? The household? Or was it Rick? Does he want to revenge? "
She remembered that her rival, Rickardo, who had been threatening her ever since she won the World's Writer Award for her book, Scarred. Even though he had won fifteen million as the first runner-up, he still was not content and he felt he had been cheated. Well, it was not her fault, she was voted by her faithful audience to be the winner.
"I deserved that, not you!" he had told her after the ceremony.
"So, has he sent assassins?" she thought, as she became very alert to face whatever  reality brought to her.
She could not even think straight. Or maybe she had offended God and He wants to revenge. Or her forefathers were evil ones. All she wanted was peace but that was far from her. She was drained of energy. She had even forgotten where she was headed.
"You'll have to stop the car and get down now," her inner voice suggested.
Getting down from the car would be a huge problem for her, she felt unwilling to meet her death. And so, she refused to listen to the inner voice speaking to her. After another whole hour of roaming, her tired car suddenly stopped probably because it needed fuel. She began to panic as she knew she would surely be dead in the next minute now her car was stagnant.
It was a very bad day for her. The battery of her phone was dead. Her car broke down; the engine of her car was lethargic and had stopped functioning. It was already evening, and, to crown it all, she was all alone. The perspiration that licked her face streamed down her back bone and it sent shiver down her spine.
"kom, kom, kom, " she  heard a knock on the window of her car. Now her chest was heaving rhythmically like she would pass out in the very next seconds.
"Now you'll need to get down," said the voice mockingly.
Will she be kidnapped or killed at that instant? She did not know. Reluctantly and with a scared face, she alighted. On getting out of her car, she was greeted by the cool breeze of that evening. And all that she saw was a young man dressed in a grey suit and with an identity card hanging around his neck.
"Who are you and what do you want?" she asked in a harsh, yet frightened manner.
"I am Mr Martins from MT Communications and we will like to interview you; so, this is our invitation letter ," he dipped his hands into his pocket and brought out the letter of invite.
"We know you are a very busy person and have tried sending letters to your organization but we never got any response. So we decided to gave this to you personally," he quickly added.
"So all this while..." Rachael's thoughts failed her as words refused to come from her mouth.
  All she could do was to nod her head as she leaned on her car for support since she was stressed. Few moment passed away before she could move her muscles to receive the letter.
"Thank you ma. We can even meet. Maybe tomorrow in the afternoon; just place a call," he said as he returned to his car.
"Wait! " Rachael called, "Please, can you take me to my office, my car has broken down," she asked politely even though she was unsure of her decision.
"It's okay ma," the man affirmed.

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"Why are you crying ma'am?" worried Mr Martins inquired.
"The question you have asked is a hot knife piercing my chest. I have dreaded this question all my life," Rachael said, with a waning voice and tears flowing freely from her flushed face.
They were only two in her large office, Rachael and Mr. Martins. After their fateful meeting the other day, she had agreed to his request—to be interviewed. She consented not because she was willing, but because she wanted to repay him for driving her back to her office that evening. In fact, she had chosen another day for the interview. She was a busy woman. A woman of business.
She had been asked several question earlier, they were just the normal questions any journalist would ask a famous writer that she was. How she had interest for writing, her source of inspiration, difficulties she had faced in her career and the likes, but the current question was not the one she wished to answer.
"Are you offended by the question? I guess we should move to the next...." said Mr Martins.
"No...no, you do not need to do that, I think it is high time that I answered that question," she interrupted. "Please repeat the question," she prompted, wiping the stains of tears on her face.
"If you insist, I will," Mr Martin said still in doubt to repeat a question that made a multi talented woman like Mrs Rachael Adegbite cry.
"The question goes: Mrs Rachael, as the CEO of the multinational MR Writes Organization, what prompted you to write the award-winning book Scarred?" Mr Martins repeated.
And just as she was about to reply, buried images started flashing through her mind; familiar voices she had kept safe rang through her ears. And she remembered her worst nightmare.

"Go now and just leave," Wright, her best friend had said as he turned his face to the wall.
"I can never leave. Over my dead body," she insisted speaking with her tired but firm voice.
"Won't you leave? The competition will end soon. Just go now," Wright said indignantly.
"What if... what if I do not meet you here?"
"You will. It is just a little surgery, but I need you to present that manuscript. I have been writing it for more than a year, please. Just do it for me," Wright pleaded.
"You are saying that a heart transplant is a little surgery; are you even serious? Tears began to well up in her eyes."Please promise that you will be alright," she said again.
"I will, I promise," he had said with an assuring voice.
Racheal had gone to the competition and had won. She was honoured with several gifts and even a scholarship to study abroad. But deep down, she knew she was not the original writer. She was an undergraduate studying Microbiology and she was never a writer. But she knew that had been the dream Wright had nurtured day and night.
"I want to be the greatest writer on the planet," Wright would say with dreamy face.
Hardly had Racheal left the premise that her phone started ringing. It was Wright's sister calling her. On the phone, the girl was crying and eventually she said with a clear and sad voice
"My brother is dead."
The painful death her best friend, twenty -three year old Wright Emmanuel was a turning point in her life. She was gifted by his mother. She was given all his write-up and even his diary. After reading through his diary, she learned that Wright had been looking forward to confessing his love to her. He also wanted to own a writing company named MR Writes for the reason she could not decipher. But sadly, death had wiped him away from the surface of the earth. Then with great determination, she took it upon herself to live up to his dreams. With the help of his beautiful works, she was able to reach the top of her career as a writer.
And she had  written Scarred, a biography of her only best friend, Wright. And the whole world appreciated it. She wished Wright was there to own all she had owned through him as it had been a sad experience for her to lose him.

"The truth is that I cannot give the answer now, I'll write and send it through the mail." She said, as she came back to reality.
"It is okay ma, no problem about that," Mr Martins said.
"And I would not be able to utter even a word. I'll just continue to cry," she explained, a very sad tone evident in her voice.
"Let's just round up with this question: What is your advice for the up-and-coming female writers like you?"
" Hmm," she sighed. And she began,  "you see, being a career woman is  not an easy task; every female writer aspiring to be successful must be determined, and they should make sure God is in control of their lives. You know that all is in God's control never go out of control."
"Wow, that's a great advice ma. Thank you for your time," Mr Matin said as he shook hands with her and took his leave.
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Years later, The movie titled Scarred was on the screen of all. And It also won a prestigious award. "Well, it's worthwhile than that,"Racheal thought anytime she was complemented. Even at the award ceremony, she had ended her speech with "In all, this is my letter to the real owner of MR Write up there, a friend who I cannot thank enough for leaving a legacy and providing the life I am living."
Even though some of the guests at the ceremony were puzzled, all she could do was to glance at her husband who understood everything.