Cryptological Mystification: Thanks! (Assuming that "wow" was a compliment.)
Fruktus_1997: Thank you!
Serene_Halcyon: Thank you so much, I'm glad you like it! Mike's flashback was actually featured in one of my other fics called "Game Over" which went through the taffy stretcher from the point of view of Mike from the book, 1971 movie, and the newer movie (which this is based off of.) As for OCs, I usually try not to put too much of them in a story, because they often end up as Mary-Sues. Several, however play minor roles, although this story is mainly based off of Mike and Veruca. This chapter, however, has an OC playing a significant part.
"Mike! Mike! Are you okay?"
Mike opened his eyes. He was lying on one of the Salt's non-decorative couches. Veruca, her parents, their butler, chauffer, and their cook all stood over him. It took him a couple of seconds to realize what had just happened.
Damn it! He thought. Of course, he just had to have a flashback there and then, of all times. He tried to sit up, but Mrs. Salt pushed him back down.
"I'm fine," he tried to say, but she shushed him.
"Call an ambulance, Henry," she said, feeling his forehead as if checking his temperature.
Veruca frowned, probably more upset about her plans being ruined than concerned for Mike's well being.
"I'm fine," he said again.
"Don't worry, Mike. An ambulance has is making it's way over right now. Everything's going to be alright. We'll call your parents. What's their number?"
Oh no. No. This couldn't be happening. This could not be happening. Things were going so well. He had been so close to achieving his goal. It was just as Murphy's theory said: everything that can go wrong, will go wrong.
But Mike wasn't willing to give in so easily. He had come so close, far too close to give in just yet. He gave them the number to the pizza place near his house, one of the few things he would eat. It would buy him time, but not a way out.
"Wait!" he shouted suddenly, as Mr. Salt was about to leave. "I just remembered. They won't be able to answer."
Henry looked at him suspiciously. "And why is that?"
"Because . . . because . . ." he strained his mind, struggling to come up with something. "They're in Africa."
"Africa?"
"Yes. They're building houses for the poor. And . . . and there's no cell phone signal there. Veruca heard about it, and that's why she invited me over. We've been keeping in touch, you see. You know, like pen pals."
"What about E-mail?" asked Mrs. Salt. "Surely they must have a computer with them . . ."
Mike silently cursed, but tried to play it cool. "You can try," he said, "but they're really busy. Mom and Dad work from dawn until dusk, and by the time they're done for the day, the two of them are so tired that they usually go right to sleep. They might not answer for days. Or weeks." Mr. and Mrs. Salt exchanged looks. "I can give you their E-mail addresses though," he offered, quickly reciting the information. The less reluctant I appear to contact them, the more realistic my lie will be, he reasoned. He knew both of his parents' passwords, so deleting the messages would be easy.
The Salts still looked suspicious, and Mike was beginning to panic. Suddenly, the chauffer said. "The boy is telling the truth," everyone turned to him, surprised. "I spoke to the boy's parents before picking him up. They were just leaving."
Mike met the man's eyes. He winked at him, and the young boy understood. "Yeah," he agreed, "I don't know when you'll be able to reach them."
His words were barely registered by Veruca's parents, who were still gawking at their employee. Finally, Mr. Salt cleared his throat. "Very well," he said, "I will alert your parents via E-mail, and the doctor will arrive shortly. If you are sure that they won't mind you staying here, then I certainly won't protest, but. . ." he sighed. "Just lie down until the doctor comes." Mike nodded. "Good boy."
Mike tried to relax, but he couldn't help but worry about what would happen if his parents checked their E-mail. Both of them checked theirs nightly.
He glanced at his watch. It was 1:37 PM. England was seven hours ahead of Denver. Mike did a quick calculation in his head. That it meant it was about 6:23 back at home. He had plenty of time.
The doctor entered the room. "Are you Michael Teavee?" he asked.
Mike nodded, suddenly feeling very tired as the events of the day caught up to him. "My name is Mike," he tried to say, but his words slurred and his speech was unintelligible.
"MUMBLER!" he heard someone shout.
"Ah!" Mike sat upright, frantically looking around the room. "Who said that?" he demanded.
The doctor gave him a puzzled look. "Said what?"
Mike blinked. Great, now he was hearing things. "Never mind," he muttered.
The doctor concluded that Mike was just fine, although if anything happened again, he should be brought to the hospital. He was thanked, and then left.
"We should wait a couple of days for the excitement to die down. Then we act."
"Agreed."
As the days went by, Mike kept himself busy. He perfected his poison, crushed Hiroshi in virtual chess, and digitally inserted himself into photographs on the website of the camp he was supposed to be attending. Mike had already called the place prior to his arrival at the Salts, so he didn't need to worry any concerned camp directors dialing up his parents.
He overall seldom left his room in the time frame of nearly a week. Veruca's parents eventually did calm down, and Mike was left to wonder why the chauffer had testified for him.
Finally, after nearly a week had passed, Veruca announced that it "was time". She didn't need to explain herself any further, for Mike was just as prepared as she was.
"Mummy," Veruca said one morning. It was one of the few mornings Mrs. Salt was present during breakfast. Normally, the only time Mike would see her parents was during dinner.
Mrs. Salt looked up from the magazine she was reading. "Yes, Dear?"
"Mike and I are going out for a bit. Mr. Herald is driving us."
She paused for a moment, considering the request. Veruca batted her eyelashes and bounced up and down her toes. Mrs. Salt sipped her coffee and tapped her fingernails, before eventually giving in. "Alright," she agreed, "but don't go out for too long."
"Thank you, Mum! You're the best Mummy in the whole world!" Veruca ran up, kissing and flinging her arms around the woman. Her mother returned the hug and smiled, although it did not seem to reach her eyes.
Mike stood there somewhat awkwardly. His family was never the touchy-feely type and he was never sure what to do around people who were. He averted his eyes and developed an apparent fascination with his tennis shoes.
Eventually, Veruca's reign of manipulation was over, and they entered the limo. Mr. Herald, the same chauffer who flew Mike to England and stood up for him by lying right to the Salts' faces. He was curious to know more about him.
"Well?" Veruca demanded. "Are you just going to stand there with your mouth open until flies fly in, or are you getting in the car? That's what I thought, now move it."
Wonka's chocolate factory was located in a remote part of London, about an hour and a half from Buckinghamshire. The first half hour of the trip was spent by Mike and Veruca fighting over which movie they were going to see. Mike had his eyes on 28 Days Later and A Clockwork Orange. Veruca wanted to watch Four Weddings and Funeral and nothing else. Eventually, Mr. Herald told them that if they did not chose a film soon he was going to make them both watch Teletubbies.
The two eventually agreed on North by Northwest, which Mike enjoyed very much. Poking fun at it that is.
"How is his suit still perfect?" the boy demanded for the umpteenth time, "he was just chased by a freakin' plane!" Could this possibly be the same man who directed Psycho?
Veruca told Mike to shut up, and announced that she had to go to the bathroom. They stopped at a mall, and Veruca was let out. Mike decided to stay in the car with the chauffer.
"So . . ." he said. "Where are you from?"
"Manchester," was the curt reply.
Mike nodded, even though he knew Mr. Herald wouldn't be able to see from the front.
"You want to know why I lied to my employers?" he guessed.
He cringed. "Uh . . . yeah." Wow, was it really that obvious?
"I have known Miss Veruca for a long time. Besides, I have my own issues with Mr. Wonka."
Mike gulped. "H-how did you know about that?"
The driver chuckled. "You're a smart boy, Mr. Teavee, I thought it would have been obvious. Honestly, the two of you are about as subtle as a Wagner opera!"
Mike stiffened at the insult, despite not knowing what a Wagner opera was. Unable to conjure up an immediate comeback, he changed the subject. Mike looked at his watch. "She did say that she was only going to the bathroom, right?"
The chauffer groaned. "Please. Do you honestly think that Veruca is going to miss out on an opportunity to shop unsupervised?"
The American boy groaned, realizing that they could be stuck for hours. Might as well use the time to his advantage. "You said that you and Mr. Wonka had bad blood between you. Why is that?"
"That is none of your concern, Mr. Teavee," the man snapped, instantly defensive.
Ooookaay then. Well, if the man wouldn't tell him himself, he would have to find another way. Mike decided to resort to help from his old friend: the Internet.
He pulled out his phone and connected to Wi-Fi. He went to the Google search engine and typed in "Peter Herald" (he had heard their butler call him by his first name).
After skimming through several pages of useless information, Mike was about to give up hope, until an old news article caught his eye.
September 21, 1995:
TWO WONKA EMPLOYEES SUSPECTED OF SPYING
Wilbur Herald, 19, was removed from his occupation at Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory yesterday morning, on account of treason. Mr. Herald was suspected of selling the company's secrets to Mr. Slugworth, Wonka's most competitive rival.
Mr. Wonka was outraged upon hearing that one of his most trusted workers betrayed him, and has announced that if the spying continues, he will likely close down his factory for good.
Wilbur and his brother, Peter, 24, were both fired from their positions.
"You're awfully quiet . . ." Peter mused. Then it hit him. "Let me guess, you looked me up on your phone."
Mike saw no point in denying it. "Yeah."
"If you must know, you might as well hear the whole truth," he said. "While working in the factory, we were kept under harsh conditions and very underpaid. Our families needed the money, so my brother decided to work for Slugworth. I knew nothing about it at the time - - not that I would have protested, of course. The man was practically a slave laborer.
"When Wonka found out, he was absolutely furious. He didn't want to merely let us go, he wanted to prove a point. So he proceeded to humiliate my brother in front of all of the workers. He nearly blinded him with food colouring and got him stuck in a machine that ripped off his - - but my point is, if you want to do something to harm Wonka, I certainly will not stop you."
"Why didn't Veruca just get her parents to sue him?"
"For what? Getting her dress filthy? Besides, things have changed, Veruca's parents don't cater to her like they used to - - they still do, mind you, but they would never dare do anything that would hurt their reputation. I also believe they are a bit frightened of Mr. Wonka." Mr. Herald stopped, feeling that he said too much.
Mike had gotten all he needed to hear. Now they had another ally to help them - - or at least, an adult who wouldn't rat them out.
Veruca returned about twenty minutes later with four large shopping bags. And the ride resumed. By the time they got to the factory, Mike practically flung himself out of the car.
The children stood before the large building in awe. Neither wanted to admit it, but they were both frightened.
"Go on," Veruca prompted.
"It's ladies first," Mike replied, gripping his backpack tightly.
"Oh please! Now, of all times, you decide to be a gentleman!"
"It doesn't matter, anyway." Mr. Harold pointed out, parking the car and walking up to the gate. He gave it a little tug. "The gate is locked."
Mike slapped himself on the forehead. Stupid! Stupid! Stupid! How could he be such an idiot? Of course Wonka wasn't going to leave the gate open, let alone the front door. Surely there had to be some other way to get in . . .
Mr. Harold, as if reading the boy's mind, said, "I guess you'll just have to use the alternate entrance."
"Alternate entrance?" Veruca repeated.
"Of course. There's no way this place has just one door. Lead the way, Mr. H!"
Harold gave Mike a look, but agreed to lead them to the back door. The trio walked around the building until they reached an oddly shaped tree. "If I remember correctly, this branch acts a lever. . ." he pulled it.
Immediately, a chute opened up underneath the children's' fee†, sending them down a long and unexpected slide. It happened so fast that Mike didn't even remember to scream.
The tunnel was dark and there was no way to tell where or when it ended, so it came as quite a surprise when the ride came to an abrupt stop in a pitch-black room.
"Oof!" he moaned, landing uncomfortably.
Veruca shrieked and landed on top of him. Slowly, she got to her feet. "Unbelievable!" she cried, smoothing her skirt. "He could have at least warned us! I mean, honestly, why have a trapdoor in a place like that? It's completely preposterous!" she looked up angrily. "When I get home, I'm telling Daddy to dock his wage! We are paying that man far too much." she crossed her arms and stomped her foot. "Did you hear that, Harold?" she shouted towards the ceiling.
"Shut up," said Mike, "he can't hear you, anyway."
Veruca glared at him, although surprisingly, did not argue. "What do we do now?" she demanded. "I don't suppose you have some sort of plan?"
"As a matter of fact, I do. We want to poison the chocolate, right? So we have to go to where the chocolate process begins - -"
"The coco trees?"
"No! The chocolate river! That's where all of the chocolate is mixed, isn't it? If we pour it in, then all of his products will get a good dosage, and the source will be clear."
"Fine. Do you know how to get to the chocolate room from here?"
"Umm. . . no." Come to think of it, he had never been in this part of the factory before. He didn't even know where to start.
The British girl rolled her eyes. "Brilliant," she muttered, looking around the room. "Where the bloody hell are we, anyway?"
"Like I know! When I came to this place, I used the front door, remember? They had the creepy puppets . . ." He could feel Veruca shudder. "Oh man, you didn't see the aftermath. In the elevator, Wonka showed us the 'puppet hospital' and - - wait, the elevator! It says all the names of the rooms. If we could just find it, I'm I could . . ."
"How are we going to find anything?" Veruca demanded, her voice quivering slightly. "It's pitch black; I can't see a blasted thing!"
CREEEEAAK!
Veruca screamed and grabbed Mike's hand. As soon as she realized what she had just done, her hand dropped.
"Relax, moron, it's just my shoe. Anyway, I think I have a flashlight some where in my bag . . . ah, here it is."
The bright light nearly blinded the two children, causing Mike to drop the device in alarm. Once he gather his thoughts and picked it up, a whole new set of problems arose. "DAMN IT!" he swore loudly.
"W-what is it?"
"Look around and you tell me!"
Veruca did look around, and the problem soon became quite apparent: on every available inch on the room's walls, was a door. There were hundreds, possibly thousands in all.
"Of course," she muttered sarcastically. "I would have expected nothing less. What do we do now?"
"Well . . . we should try a bunch of doors, and see if any of them look familiar."
"But that could take hours!" was the whiney reply.
"Oh, I'm SORRY. Do you have a better plan?" Salt scowled and muttered something under her breath, but agreed to follow his idea for the time being. "That's what I thought. Now start looking. We have no time to lose."
Veruca pulled a one. "It's locked!" she complained.
Mike rolled his eyes. "Let me at it," he said, pulling out a paper clip.
"You know how to pick locks?"
"I've seen it on TV before, although I've never actually tried," he admitted, somewhat regretting mentioning the latter. Mike fumbled with the clip, trying to bend it like they did in those spy movies. Unfortunately, his near-paper-thin fingers were too long and spindly for the job, rendering the very notion utterly useless. "Forget it," he said, "Let's just find another door."
And they did. It was not long before Veruca spotted a pretty pink door that led into a hallway. Mike couldn't see any obvious danger, but he still didn't trust it completely.
Veruca, however, had an entirely opposite view of the situation. A way out was a way out after all. She quickly pushed past Teavee. "Ladies first," she said.
"No," said Mike. "You wait here. I'll go first to make sure its safe." He wasn't sure where exactly those words came from, but it sounded like the right thing to say.
Veruca hesitated, but decided that if there was to be any danger, it was better that he go than her. Her life was far too precious to waist, but something told her that nobody would really be missing him.
Mike ducked, as not to hit his head, and stepped foot into the hallway. "Okay, it don't see anything weird. It looks just like a normal hallway. . . OH, GOD! NO! NO! NOOOO!"
"What is it?"
"The wallpaper is made of CHOCOLATE! Oh, the horror!"
Mike tried to make his way back, but Veruca pushed him back into the hallway. "Grow up!" she said, slamming the door behind her, a rather feebleminded move on her part.
"Veruca, you idiot!"
"What? What did I do now?"
"You closed the door! Haven't you ever seen horror movies? I'll bet you anything that it locks!" Just to prove his point, Mike went over and tried to door. Sure enough, it didn't budge. "Well, whatdaya know? It's freakin' locked! Now we're trapped in here for who knows how long! We'll starve! Do you know how long the human body can last without food - - well, actually it depends on whether they get water. I think I have a water bottle in my backpack, but that wont be enough to sustain us for long!"
"Mike, if you haven't noticed, we're in a room made entirely out of chocolate!"
"Oh, I've noticed. And I repeat: we'll starve to death!"
"Grow up. Now, I'm sure there's a door somewhere. After all, who would build a corridor that doesn't lead to a single room?"
"Willy Wonka, that's who."
Veruca groaned. "I hate this!" she complained. "I want to go home right now!"
"That's not going to happen any time soon. Look," he said, pointing his flashlight forward. They could only see a short distance ahead of them, even with the light. "I'm sure this tunnel ends somewhere. Come on."
"But what if . . ."
"We don't have much of a choice, now do we? I don't know about you, but I want to get out of here. I want to live to see my fifteenth birthday. You can stay if you want, Princess, I'm going."
Veruca hesitated for several seconds, but decided to follow.
The two walked in silence for several minutes. Occasionally Mike would mutter something about his back, or Veruca about her feet, but there was very little actual conversation.
Suddenly, Mike stopped in his tracks. "What the . . . ?" he looked straight ahead with his mouth agape. "Veruca," he said. "I don't think we're alone."
BUM BUM BUUUM! What will happen next? Only I know! Mua-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha *cough* ha-ha!
If you think you know, have any ideas or suggestions, compliments, criticism, or just want to say hi, please review!