"And when I came out, I was all blue, and super-flexible ! And Jim arrived with his whip, killed them all in a single slash !"
"That was crazy ! When Augustus came after me, he was all muscular and insane, we started a fight, that was like in a movie ! I discovered I could fly when..."
"I fell in a pit, all the way down to the last basement, that was maybe one kilometer a fall, but I felt nothing and when I landed, there was that fat pig monster..."
"Killed it straight, cracked its head like a watermeleon ! There were arrows raining all round, like in Gladiator ! And..."
"I was in front of a big laser, so I told myself: Okay, Big Mike, no time to hesitate ! That was scary, but I was really jacked into the computer !"
"And she could read minds !"
"Staircase was on fire !"
"A dozen robots !"
"I used a jet-pack !"
"The Oompa Loompas were cannibals !"
"I discovered a secret entrance, but the mansion was totally insane..."
"Got chased all the way down ! He almost drowned !"
The dining room in the Salts' mansion was howling with the chaotic sound of half a dozen different conversations, each kid telling the same story with his own point of view, all at the same time, forming a patchwork of chronologically unrelated - and somewhat incoherent - events told by overexcited young voices that would only pause to have a drink or a bite of food. That was not fine cuisine tonight at the Salts. Pizzas, ice-cream, sodas, a whole arsenal of junk food, a gigantic picknick composed of everything that would please and relax a gang of shocked and starving kids after their ordeal.
They had left the Factory about an hour before, and Mr Salt had gladly invited everyone to spend a few days at his mansion, to recover from this... difficult time, as he had said with a nice euphemism. There were only "the gang", as they now called themselves, along with their families. The unknown children from Basement 13 had been sent to hospital. They were doing fine, the doctors said. The officer, Bronson Roarke, had also been invited for dinner with them. Violet found it strange, at first, but as the party went on, she suspected that he and her mom were dating.
I'd better watch it, she thought as she took a bite from her pizza, trying to get used to the plastercast that protected her broken hand, what will I look like if I have a Brit for a step-dad ?
She observed the others. Snake wasn't talking much, except for a few words exchanged with her mom or Mr Salt. He wasn't a very chatty guy, anyway. Violet remembered the only time she had managed to have him talk a lot, that's when he was drunk with Butterscotch. Augustus was proudly talking about the way he had challenged an ogre in hand-to-hand fight, and how he could have won if "that damn chair" hadn't fallen from the sky at the wrong moment. Though, he was the first to admit he had no memory of where he got those muscles of his. Charlie was talking about the mansion he had visited, and how the corridors and rooms would switch place and defy gravity to make him mad. Mike was patiently trying to explain his father the concept of transformation of particles into micro-waves to allow cybertransportation, the very technology that gave him the ability - an ability he discovered he still had, now that he was out - to interact with computers and communication devices. Everyone was going with his own tale. Impressive, this ability children have to cope with the quirkiest situations, the scariest dangers, and get away with it. These events had distressed, terrified them moments before, and now they were talking about these as if they were coming out of a scary horror movie and telling the moments that had scared them the most, with excitement, with wonder, with fun, for they knew that it was all over and they were safe again, among their families and friends. That was magic. However, two of the most epic episodes of the day - the desperate escape from Basement 11 and the near-suicidal struggle against a vegetal monster to turn the big generator back on - were not being told. Veruca. She wasn't here to share the meal with them. Hurt, exhausted and traumatized by her ordeal, she had been sent to the nearest hospital for an emergency examination, and now she was back in the mansion, resting in her bedroom where she was being looked after by her mom and the family doctor. The blue girl thought with a bit of sadness that of all the gang, Veruca was surely the one who had gone through the worst. This led her to think about the little Russian, Oksana. She had to visit her, the next day. She would ask her mom to take her to the hospital.
She stood up and left for the toilets. When she came back, Mike was waiting for her in the hallway.
"Hey, Violet... can I talk to you a minute ?"
"Why, sure... what's the matter ? You look worried."
"It's about what happened in the basement... I wanted to say sorry for what I did."
She smiled. "That's all ? But, Mike, you were being controlled by a virus, it wasn't your fault. That's okay."
"No, not really. I mean, of course the virus made me do things I didn't want to do... but everything I said was real. Violet, the truth is, I'm totally crazy of you. When I saw you, alone with Snake, I was jealous, I started to imagine things, and then this virus arrived and just helped me make up a whole story, it made me mad. But that was not all the virus's fault, part of the problem came from me. I've been stupid, and mean. That's why I wanted to say sorry..."
Immediately then, the boy received an unexpected sneak kiss on the lips. His eyes swelled up like ping-pong balls.
"Of course, you're forgiven," she whispered, blushing. "After all, it's all over now... definitely over."
A few moments of silence passed.
"And," Mike said awkwardly, "I was thinking... maybe we could, you know, go out, someday."
"Yeah, sure... we could try... you know what I really need, right now ?"
"No, what ?"
"A contest. It's been a while."
"What kind of contest ?"
"Let's see... what if we see who can eat the most ice-cream ?"
"I'm on it !"
And, giggling, the two kids went back in the dining room.
----------
The dinner party was ended and the kids were going to bed when Charlie came to visit Veruca in her room. As he arrived, she was sleeping peacefully in her king size bed, with the blankets pulled over up to the neck. She was beautiful as an angel.
"We gave her a tranquilizer," Mrs Salt explained with a soft voice.
"Is she getting better ?" the boy asked.
The doctor answered: "Yes, but it might take days, even weeks, for her to fully recover from the psychological trauma... I don't know what really happened inside, but it had to be intense."
"It was..."
"She told me what you did for her," Mrs Salt said. "She told me everything, when we were at the hospital. Thank you, Charlie Bucket."
The woman took his hand and squeezed it tightly as she looked at him straight in the eyes. Her eyes were wet. "Thank you," she repeated.
"Can I wish her good night ?"
"Sure, go ahead..."
Gingerly, the boy crept on the bed and bent over the sleeping beauty to give her a soft kiss on the forehead. She didn't wake up, but he thought he saw a corner of her lips stretch into a smile for one second.
"Good night, Veruca," he whispered, and he left the room in silence.
----------
It was getting late. Close to midnight. Everybody was supposed to be asleep, and the large lounge at the first floor of the mansion was silent, empty of all presence except for Mr Salt and Snake, sitting in leather armchairs, talking softly in the darkness while enjoying a bottle of Hennessy cognac. On a table between them, appart from the bottle and two small glasses, there were a suitcase, two small wooden boxes, and a lighter. Mr Salt looked at his guest and noticed that, in the dark, the boy's yellow eyes were gleaming weakly. He opened one of the boxes and produced a cigar, while he offered the second box to James.
"I wanted to offer you a cigar," he said, "but I thought that, after what you lived, you might prefer something different..."
The boy opened the box to discover a few sheets of cigarette paper and tobacco mixed with dark green dried-up leaves.
"I hope you will like it, it's from Kazakhstan. I was told it's excellent quality, but I don't use this kind of product myself..."
"Well, thank you, sir, that's a very good idea," the mercenary said as he began to prepare his cigarette of marijuana. "Exactly what I need now."
"You're welcome."
They began to smoke silently, and after a while, the gentleman gently pushed the suitcase on the table towards his guest. The mercenary opened it to discover it was full of puffy bucks.
"Two hundred thousand pounds," Mr Salt said. "As promised."
The gentleman didn't really understand what happened now, for he saw the boy take a certain number of piles of bucks out of the case.
"What are you doing ?"
"I only take half the reward."
"Why would you do that ?"
"I consider the mission's not a total success. I brought her back alive, yes, but really, I should have done better than that. I wasn't with her most of the time, and because of this, she has been tortured, and God knows what else happened to her. It's not a failure, but not a success either."
The businessman sighed. "I understand. What happened to her is regrettable, of course. To be fairly honest with you, I would gladly kill Willy Wonka with my own hands."
"Like basically everyone in this mansion."
"At least, you are honest and fair. Veruca told me about you, during our short stay at the hospital. She told me about the squirrels. She told me how you went all the way down the facility when you were almost out, just to bring her back. And she told me how you caught a blade in the air right before her eyes before you spat venom at Willy Wonka. I think you deserve this money, Snake."
"The venom thing was just an accident. I didn't even know I could do it."
"Whatever. Please, take at least two thirds of this money."
"Fine. If you insist. But really, Charlie Bucket did a much better job at protecting Veruca than I did."
"You are perfectly right, and that is why I will give him a more important reward: now that Wonka has disappeared, the Chocolate Factory and all his funds will be taken away from him. I intend to take it back and give it to the Buckets. I believe this little boy has what it takes to become a good chocolatier, and I will gladly offer him my help. Of course, I won't conceal the fact that I am also seeking for a financial interest in this business. Just imagine the most important nut producer in Europe allied with the greatest brand of chocolate in the world."
"You're forgetting that what happened today will ruin the reputation of Wonka Chocolates forever."
"Of course, it won't be easy for the first few months, but when we get to produce real chocolate again, untainted by drugs or any kind of thing he put in his candies, the Factory will be back on working."
"Charlie could even make it a pleasant place, and get rid of this gross nightmare we went through. That's an excellent idea !"
"Thank you. Besides, this will please my daughter a lot. The two of them have a crush on each others, that's obvious. The boy reminds me of when I was young..."
"Yeah, I know what it is..."
As soon as he said that, the image of Jessifer began to invade his brain and he regretted his words bitterly. He shook his head and stood up.
"I need some fresh air," he said, and added as he took the box of marijuana: "Mind if I take it ?"
"It's yours."
"Thanks." He stopped a moment, and picked up the bottle of Hennessy. "I take that too, gonna be useful."
The young mercenary tossed his finished cigarette in the snow, and began to prepare another one. He wasn't sleepy. The air was getting very cold in the snowy garden, but he appreciated it. If the air was hot, it would have reminded him too much of the Factory. He wandered a little, enjoying the bright moonlight, and he decided to call his mentor. That was the right time, considering the jet lag, it was still the afternoon in Russia. Or maybe not ? He didn't know, he had never been able to remember jet lags. Whatever, his mentor was insomniac, anyway. He took his phone and waited a few minutes to obtain international communication.
"Patriarch ?" he asked. "Yes, it's me. Mission complete... you bet that was tough ! I didn't see it coming... didn't really go on as planned, the girl is safe but harmed. I had to cut down the reward... no, really, that's a very long story, I'll tell you everything later. But yeah, that was hard. Harder than Grozny. No kidding ! I think I can use some vacations, now... okay, we'll talk about that later... bye."
He put the phone back in his pocket when Mrs Beauregard appeared behind him.
"Snake ? Can we talk ?"
"Mrs Beauregard ?"
"Violet told me about you. Seems like you got quite close while you were in there."
"Only as friends."
"Yes, of course, that's what I meant. What are you going to do, now ?"
"Get a few days off. Go back to Russia, I guess. And then, I'll go for a new contract. Life goes on... why do you ask ?"
"I have a proposal for you."
"A proposal ? Who am I supposed to kill ?"
She let out a faint snigger. "No-one. It's about Violet... you must have noticed she is all blue, now. And needless to say, that's not gonna be easy when we go back to Atlanta. With school, and all. So here is my proposal: you come and live with us, in Atlanta, for a while. I want you to support her, to help her bear with her blue color. She's never been a very sociable person, and I don't want her to become a laughing-stock. She will overcome this much better with some help."
"Why don't you do it yourself ?"
"I will do everything I can, but it's quite difficult. A mother must be ready to face a lot of problems with her daughter. Growing acnea, first boyfriends, friendship issues... but a sudden change of skin color ? No, no mother is ready to help with that. I'm asking you because you don't have anyone expecting you, you have nowhere to go, right ?"
"That's quite true."
"Plus, I think you've become pretty good friend with her. But, to be honest, it's mostly because... no offense, but I think that no-one's better than a freak to teach a freak how to accept herself."
The boy let out a snigger of approval. She continued:
"You won't be paid much, but you have free lodging and food. You'll be like a member of the family, and you won't have to kill anybody. Consider this as vacations. What do you think about this ?"
"So, from mercenary I turned bodyguard, and now I'm a coach. Quite unexpected, but I could be interested. Can we talk about it again tomorrow ?"
"Why, sure."
"Cool. You want a spliff ?"
She hesitated. "Oh, well, I guess it won't hurt me..."
----------
It was late. So late it was almost early. But in the middle of the sleeping mansion, Violet couldn't sleep. Alone in her room, she kept changing positions in her bed, to a point she was becoming nervous. The room was too silent, too dark, the bed was too large, although it was very comfortable, it wasn't her bed and she didn't feel at ease in it. She felt lonely. Dark and without a sound, it was like time had stopped, and she was too impatient waiting for the morning to sleep. Plus, her arm felt itchy behind that damn cast ! But the real reason was that she was too afraid to sleep. When she closed her eyes, she would hear the weak whines of the zombie children from the dark basement, and this made her struggle to stay awake. She guessed everyone would have a gruesome nightmare, anyway. If she didn't dream about the zombies, she would dream about the snake pit, Meat, the skin-peeling machine or something equally nasty. But she didn't want to. She just wanted to rest with the satisfaction that the ordeal was over. Only, it was harder than she thought. It was so frustrating ! She wanted to weep in boredom when the door opened softly.
The girl stiffened. No worry, that had to be her mom coming to wish her good night. But, wait, her mom was supposed to be sleeping for long, already ! So who... the shadow that entered was shorter than her mom, had long hair, and was clad in a sort of long dress. A zombie child that was coming back ? Violet bit her lips and clenched her sheets with her valid hand so hard the fingers turned white. The visitor walked slowly to the bed, like a ghost. She was livid. She wanted to scream, but she was paralyzed. When the visitor was close enough for Violet to see her face, she suddenly felt terribly stupid.
It was Veruca. Only Veruca, in a long pink nightgown.
"Sorry to scare you," the girl whispered, "I didn't mean to."
"You didn't scare me."
"Don't tell me lies," she teased, "I can read your mind, remember ?"
She climbed on the bed and crept under the blankets, close to her friend.
"I heard you from my room," she explained. "Heard mentally, I mean. You feel distressed and you can't sleep. So I thought we could sleep together."
"Good idea," she moaned as she drew closer and rested her head on her friend's shoulder. "Thanks. Can't sleep either ?"
"I was given a medicine to sleep, but I started to dream about... let's just say a dream woke me up, and I couldn't go back to sleep. That's horrible, when I'm alone in the dark, I'm afraid of everything..."
"Me too... so, your... skill is not fading ?"
"No. On the contrary, feels like it's getting... not more intense, but rather more, you know, more precise, more accurate. It's easier to concentrate on someone."
"How does it feel ? To read people's minds ?"
"It's like a computer. I open someone's mind like you would open a folder, and I have all their thoughts, their memories, their ideas, translated into sounds, musics, pictures, in my head. At first, it's freaky, but I'm getting used. That's strange... two days ago, I didn't give a damn about other people, I only lived and thought for myself. Now, I sometimes know people better than they know themselves. I bet I'd be a great psychiatrist."
"Did you try it on people, apart from us ?"
"I tried on Snake, but I didn't stay long. There are some very creepy things in his memory... I saw a guy being melted down with acid in a bathtub."
"Okay, I needn't know more."
"Sure. Sorry. We try to sleep ?"
"We can try. You know, Veruca, that day was Hell, but I'm still happy it allowed us to meet."
"Me too. Good night, sister."
"Sister ? That's nice... then good night too, sister."
----------
The room was plain but nice, with its cream-colored walls, wooden furniture, and a whole bunch of diplomas displayed everywhere. The office of a psychiatrist. Veruca felt confident in this place, lying on the sofa, and she began to confess to the doctor as she was staring at the ceiling, completely relaxed.
"No," she said, "it's not a phobia. Or at least, I don't think so. It's just that you can't really trust one of these things again after a whole army of them tried to kill you. Okay, I might have pissed them a little. I was kind of a spoiled brat at this time, and I wanted to catch one of them and keep it as a pet. But God damn, was it really a reason for trying to kill me ? Crap, they tried to throw me in a garbage chute ! So, okay, they look cute and harmless, but in reality, they're vicious bastards ! Don't you agree ?"
No answer.
"Hey !" she called. "Are you listening ? Hey ! Guy, you're supposed to listen and say mh-mh and write things on your notebook. Hey-ho ? You fell asleep or..."
She turned round to face her doctor, angry, but her blood froze at the moment she saw him. He wasn't asleep, he was actually writing on his nextbook. It's just that he was... it was... a squirrel. Yes, a squirrel. A six feet tall squirrel in a dark business suit, writing a psychoanalysis on his notebook. The girl felt her hands and back were as wet as her throat was dry. Holy shit ! She would never escape these things or...
The squirrel turned its head towards her, and gazed at her through its ridiculously large round spectacles.
"Go on," he said with a plain male voice, "I'm listening."
She woke up abruptly and stiffened on her bed. She threw worried glances around as she tried to control her fast breathing. Where was she ? A loud, regular breathing noise came from beside her. She looked. It was Violet, sleeping peacefully by her side. Yes, she remembered, she had shared a bed with Violet, and fallen asleep. Oh, these damn nightmares again !
What time was it ? She reached out to get the small clock on the bedside table, and saw it was nearly six. Morning already ! But nobody would wake up before at least two hours. And with that dream, she didn't want to go back to sleep. Bored, she sat comfortably beside her sleeping friend and focused to see if someone was awake. It didn't take her mind long to detect Charlie, wandering on a balcony at her floor. She loved this skill ! Cautiously, she sneaked out of the bed and out of the room, to rejoin the boy on the balcony. Dawn was giving the sky a pleasant dark pink shade, but the air was so cold that, barefoot and in her gown, Veruca was literally freezing. The boy had taken more precautions, dressed in his black jeans, shoes, shirt and coat.
"Morning," she said as she arrived by Charlie.
"Hello... slept well ?"
"Not really... and you ?"
"No. Are you... are you getting better ?"
"A little..."
At this moment, he realized how cold she felt, and he hurried to wrap his coat over her shoulders. She thanked him with a warm smile.
"Hey, look at that," she said, amused, as she pointed below, at a place in the garden where they could distinguish an empty bottle of cognac in the middle of a dozen cigarette butts.
"Someone had a party, tonight..."
Silence settled again as they just stood there, side by side, admiring the dawn.
"It's beautiful," she said.
"You know what it makes me feel like ?"
"No... what ?"
"Makes me want to dance."
She gave him a weird look. "Dance ? We can't dance here..."
"Sure, we can... Superman style."
"What, you mean... now ?"
"Sure. You trust me ?"
He smiled at her, and she smiled back.
"Hold on tight," he said.
Hesitantly, she climbed on his feet and softly wrapped her arms around his waist as he held her shoulders. She was a few inches taller than him, but still she felt exactly like she was remaking Superman.
He took off smoothly. She didn't even felt it, and suddenly, as by magic, they were hovering above the garden, drawing slow circles in the air. They were actually dancing. Veruca had never lived anything so romantic before.
"I have to tell you something," he said gravely. "Veruca... I think I love you."
She didn't answer. There was nothing to be said, now. They were beyond words. They kept dancing for a moment, and they shared a warm kiss.
----------
A few hours earlier, two in the morning, in Alençon, France:
A dark blue Pontiac GTO was driving rather fast throughout the deserted street of the small medieval-style French city. At such an hour, there was not a soul in the streets, otherwise everyone would have looked at this car like a UFO: American cars are quite unusual in this place. That is to say, the cold and rain wouldn't motivate anyone to go out. Yes, the rain. In this part of the country, there was more rain than snow. It was the big Northwest, the wettest part of the country, so wet that you wondered if the earth was made of soil, or if it was like a big sponge.
The man at the wheel, a nervous middle-aged Frenchman, was observing the surroundings with attention while dragging from his cigarette as the car slid smoothly on the soaked narrow streets that ran between massive, four-century-old buildings of limestone, when he finally reached the larger Koutiala Boulevard. The man gave a look on his left, for there was a field beside the boulevard, near the hospital, and this field now looked like a pond. When the weather was better, you could see sheeps rambling in this field. Sheeps in the middle of a boulevard ! No doubt he was in France ! The man let out a curse in French, against the weather of course, and listened to the radio:
Flash news, the voice anounced in French, we are just being told that in England, the five children that had been invited to visit Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory, and who had been kidnapped by Mr Wonka, have made it out, harmed and shocked, but safe. Mr Wonka has apparently run away and is nowhere to be found. Investigators who entered the Factory after the children came out have been so far reporting a number of disturbing discoveries, including a drug facility, the dead bodies of deformed dwarves and what they refer to as zombies, and, they say, the remains of the "largest spider in the world". The children and their families expressed the wish not to be interviewed, but the doctors and the military said they also discovered a number of unknown survivors who were supposedly kept inside the Factory. This means that so far, Willy Wonka is accused of the kidnapping, mistreatment and murder of at least thirty children from a dozen different countries. Plus, of course, the illegal dealing of drugs and toxic - sometimes deadly - substances concealed in regular candy. Wonka Candies are of course being immediately removed from stores all around the world and syndicates of chocolatiers are currently...
The man changed the station to put some music as he left the boulevard and passed beside a kebab parlor, a bike shop, a gas station and a shopping center to finally leave the town and arrive on a road in the middle of the countryside. The Normand countryside, that means green fields, green bushes, green trees, green everywhere... and of course, wet as a sponge. The man continued, on a road so deserted you wonder where civilization had gone, when a cracking noise, like crisps being bitten, came from under his wheels and made him hesitate. He looked at the road with even more focus and saw these were not crisps, but pieces of broken glass, everywhere on the road, it was as if the asphalt was covered with a carpet of broken glass. Bordel de merde, he thought, that had to be a big big vase !
A few meters away from him, a man was hitch-hiking. He stopped the car to let him in. The hitch-hiker hesitated so much to open the door and sit inside that the man wondered if he wasn't drunk or something. But when he saw his passenger's empty pale blue eyes, he understood the man was blind.
"Merci beaucoup," the passenger mumbled, and the driver was delighted he could speak French, for with his strangely outdated Victorian suit and his haircut à la Beatles, he looked really like an English guy. The car continued its way.
"I hope I'm not a charge for you," the passenger said in French, and the driver still noticed a faint British accent.
"Na, not at all. Kinda nice to have someone to talk with, that damn weather will kill me... Rosbiff ?"
"Yes." Rosbiff was a French slang word for British. "And you're American ? You have a sort of American accent."
"Putain, no ! I do everything I can not to catch the accent. I'm French, but I live in California. Came back here a few days, for vacations, and here, in the middle of the night, my daughter has a flu or something, and I have to go all the way throughout the country to find a pharmacist !"
"Bad luck... how old is your daughter ?"
"Thirteen. And you, what are you doing here in the middle of the night ?"
"Oh, that's a long story, I'd rather not talk about it."
"Does it have something to do with all that broken glass on the road ? Merde," he suddenly shouted, "you're bleeding, man !"
"What, my hand ? Oh, yes, I... I got bitten by a wild boar."
"I hope it wasn't rabid."
The British guy thought about it a moment. "Well, I think it was."
"Then I'll drop you at the first hospital we see, pal. By the way, name's Renaud Roddecker."
"Wonk... Wincott. Walter Wincott. Très heureux."
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Don't go away yet ! Lol, I know the story is virtually finished now, but when I have the time, I intend to add an epilogue to properly conclude it. In the course of the week, but not now. Right now, I'm exhausted ! Just a precision, the character Renaud Roddecker is not me. I'm much younger than he is, I'm not married, and I don't live in the USA. I don't even have his car ! Lol, but the city he's visiting, Alençon, does actually exist, and I know it well, for it is my hometown !
I will give a more proper conclusion in the epilogue, but I really hope you enjoyed this story that started as a rather non-serious pastime, and that actually took a year and a half to write. I still can't believe it. Thank you.
