"Mr. Wonka! Help me!" he was gone. Just gone. He disappeared from his bed, and was nowhere to be seen. I began to cry, harder than I ever had. "Do not fear, my little child." I began to sing. It didn't help this time. I was too scared.

"Well, well. The only witness to the murders. I was thrown in prison because of you, you know. I just figured that perhaps you would like to turn me in again, huh? How 'bout your little friend here?" he had Mr. Wonka with him. "Would you like to see him die? I can make that happen."

"What do you want from me?"

"I want your life! Your blood on my hands! I want you dead, you hear me? Dead!" he walked toward me.

"Please, sir. I'm sorry. I was only four, I didn't know any better than to tell the police."

"You are nothing but a liar to me. Ill bet you thought I was dead. Well, here I am. There is nothing you can do to stop me. No matter what, somebody's blood is going to be all over this floor. Either yours or his. You choose."

"Go ahead. Take your best shot. See if I care." I was taunting him purposely, trying to get him to back down. "Everyone has it better than me. You do, as far as I can see. Sure, you did some hard time. But you have a home! You have family and people who like to talk to you. I don't. So, kill me! Do what you came to do! Come on!"

"If that's the way you want it," he pulled out his pistol, "that's the way you're gonna get it."

He shot. He didn't miss me, but yet I wasn't hurt. I looked to find that he had shot me right over my left ribcage. I opened my jacket to reveal my wooden box, a bullet deeply embedded in it.

"Game over." I said, now springing from the floor up into his face, taking the gun from his hand and holding it to his head myself. "You've been busted."

"Look out, Bridget! He's got a..."

I've never felt so much pain in my entire life. A knife going straight through my right bicep was not what I had in mind. I fell to the floor, crying so hard I thought I would hurt myself worse.

"You know, you aren't supposed to hurt women. In fact, I'm completely against it. Now, put down the knife."

"Ha! You think I'm gonna be intimidated by some crazy chocolate maker? Think again." He raised the knife. Somehow, I got the strength in my arm again. I pulled the golden ribbon from my box and wrapped it tightly around the man's neck.

"He's tougher than you think."

I never knew his cane was made of metal. And never have I heard the sound of metal cracking bone, but I guess that's what you get.

"Bridget, are you OK?"

"I need to get to a hospital."