Disclaimer: I don't own Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and anything/anyone associated with the book or movie.
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Chapter 1
It had been over six years ago, but the night came flooding back to him. Memories he had pushed to the back of his mind for so long. In that one moment, Mike remembered every little detail of how his life changed forever.
Despite how hot it was, a seven year old Mike Atkins was shivering in his room. The door opened causing the child to gasp in horror, letting some tears fall down his cheek. Though he was relieved when his father stepped into the room and came to his bedside. Throwing his arms around the parent who cared for him, Mike let his tears fall.
As he had done many nights before, Mike looked up at his father and begged. "Please Dad. Don't let her hit me anymore. You said she'd never hurt me again."
Trying to cope with his own emotional pain, Mr Atkins comfort the child. "I'm sorry. Calm down Mike, it will be okay."
"No it won't!" In anger, the abused Mike looked up at his dad. "You say that all the time but you just keep letting her hit me. Why?" Taking a few angry shots, he stopped when his father grabbed his wrists. Then gasped as he heard the drunk scream from the bathroom.
"Listen son, we're getting out of here." He showed Mike a piece of paper, which even at his young age, the child recognised as a court order. "She won't be able to touch you ever again okay. Just pack up some things."
Quick as a flash, young Mike shoved a whole bunch of clothes and his gameboy into a backpack. His dad took him by the hand, leading him out to his car. Despite knowing full well that his dad was scared of her as much as he was, Mike had never seen so much fear in his fathers eyes. It was justified, when Mrs Atkins stumbled out the door in a screaming fit demanding that they come back. Ushering Mike into the car, Mr Atkins came face to face with the woman who made their lives miserable. He threw a copy of the court order on the ground in front of her, before hopping in the car and starting it up quickley.
Mike didn't know exactely what was happening or where they were going to go, but he was happy to be going away. In an attempt to comfort his son, Mr Atkins kept squeezing his shoulder in reassurance every few minutes. Finally after about an hour of driving the pair pulled over at a gas station.
Before filling the tank, Mr Atkins turned to his son seriously. "Listen, Mike. You understand that she can't find us. I know you don't want that. So you're going to have to be a big boy now, accept some responisibility. I know you can handle that, because you're smart." Seeing that his son stared at him blankly, he decided to get right to the point. "If you could pick any name in the world, what would it be."
"I like my name. I like being Mike." Mike answered back, feeling a little nervous.
Frustrated, but understanding Mr Atkins approached the situation another way. "That's fair enough Mike. What about your last name then, we can't keep it the same or there's a good chance your mom will find us."
"I don't want that to happen." Mike replied.
"It doesn't have to. What it does mean however, is that you have to change your last name, do you understand?"
Nodding in reply, Mike stared out the window or the car, seeing that power rangers was playing on the TV in the gas station. Mike smiled for the first time that night. "TV!" He cried out to his dad, opening the door and running.
However, his dad caught up with him and grabbed his arm. "Mike, please don't run off."
"But dad look! TV!" Mike pointed to the screen.
Seeing his son smile for the first time that night, he was unable to refuse. Wanting to remember this moment as the fresh start to their new life, he kissed his son on the forehead before putting on the serious face once again.
"How would you like that as your last name?"
"What?"
"TV of course. T-E-A-V-E-E." His father spelled it out for him.
Hugging his father, Mike looked forward to his new life. His happier life. "Mike Teavee. I like it. Thanks dad."
Mike looked at the letter in his hands. Biting his lip, he tried to stop his hands shaking in fear. He didn't know how she had found them. They both had been so careful about covering their tracks. Though no matter which way he looked at it, there was no way to deny that his biological mother had infact found him.
He walked downstairs to look for his dad. Asleep on the couch was Katrina, the woman that Mike had been his stepmom for the last few years. In reality, it was a marriage of convieniance. Mr. Teavee and Mike needed money and a place to stay and she needed a green card so it all worked out.
Finding his dad marking papers in his study, Mike walked over to his desk. He held the crumpled letter in his hands, wiping away his tears before his dad could turn around. For years now, Mike had been trusted to act in a grown up manner and make realistic decisions and he was never prepared to let his dad down on that front.
"Mike what are you doing? You should be getting some sleep." Mr Teavee turned around, rubbing his forehead. "What's the problem now?"
Mike didn't want to open his mouth, for fear that he may start crying again. Instead, he just handed his dad the letter. Watching as his father read every word, Mike found he could no longer stand up and sat down on the couch. His father soon joined him, putting a hand on his sons shoulder. They sat in silence for a few minutes. It had been awhile since this subject had been a worry.
"What are we going to do about this?" Mr Teavee said aloud, taking off his glasses. "How are we going to do this again without her finding us?"
Mike looked down at a discarded newspaper on the floor. Yet another advert for the Golden Ticket Search stared up at him. "We could move to the UK."
"Mike don't be silly. Not only do I have to give two weeks notice...lets just say that's the least of our problems."
"We could, look at this." Mike picked up the newspaper. "This stupid thing has been advertised for weeks now. Think about it dad."
"Mike you hate chocolate. Besides, how does that help us?"
"We find this ticket, she thinks we're going away temporarily. You give your two weeks notice, get atleast some temporary visas sorted out, then we're out of here for good."
"There's no guarantee you'll even find the ticket Mike."
"You know how these competitions work? We wouldn't have to go through boxes of candy. I can find it, it's really simple. All you have to do is tie up the loose ends here."
Once again rubbing his forehead, Mr Teavee turned to his son. "What do you suppose we'll do for money? Where will we live?"
"I've done my research. Willy Wonka's chocolate has been around for awhile. Think about it, the guy is probably ready to kick the bucket soon." Mike explained. "I've also read that he isn't married and that his business helps the local economy, meaning he's loaded. I saw it on the Simpsons and I think that this guy is searching for an heir."
"Please, tell me what your trying to say. You know I trust you son but you're making no sense at all."
Mike sighed, breaking it down for his father. "Five kids in the world. One gets a special prize at the end. Obviously the special prize isn't chocolate, because according to the articles on the other winners, you already get truckfulls of the stuff anyway. So what else does this guy have to offer us?" Mike put the newspaper down. "We need to get out of here, this guy is offering us a ticket, literally. Besides it can't be that hard to get another teaching job dad."
Mr Teavee had no idea why he suddenly had faith that the plan would work, but a weird feeling came over him. A realisation that things would probably fall into place just like his son had predicted. "I guess we have no choice, but first you have to get that ticket. I hope you know what you're doing."
Mike rolled his eyes, feeling a jump of joy. "Dad I will have that ticket, trust me. I wouldn't tell you my idea if it was completely pointless now would I?" Mike ran up to his room, turning on his computer to make his calculations. No matter what, he was determined to make life better for him and his dad even if he had to hang around chocolate to do it.