Chapter Two:

Charlie knew he was in for it, he just wasn't entirely sure when. Like his mentor, he hadn't gotten much sleep the night before either. He half expected Willy Wonka to come barging into his little house in the Chocolate Room any second, raving about how Charlie had let Veruca Salt into the factory. The decision had been against his best interest, but he couldn't help but think she had deserved another chance to make amends. She'd been thirteen years old last time he'd seen her – people changed over time. And if anyone knew that, it should have been Willy Wonka.

She hadn't told him her order of business, though. And now, as he got dressed and ate the breakfast Mrs. Bucket had prepared, he found himself getting increasingly curious. He was just itching to ask Willy, but...if Willy was still angry about Charlie letting Veruca in...

"Charlie! How's my little assistant doing this morning, hmm?"

Charlie choked and spilled his milk at the suddenness of the sugar-coated voice – the sugar-coated voice that almost always had venom lurking beneath it. It was almost as if a sign was flashing in Charlie's head – "DANGER! DANGER! Step AWAY from the angry Chocolatier!"

Charlie stood from the table, noticeably fast, and wiped his mouth on a napkin. "G-good morning, Willy," he said, attempting to inconspicuously take a step backwards. The attempt failed. "How are you doing this morning?"

"Oh, I'm doing just fine," Willy said with his usual wide grin, "considering all the sleep I didn't get due to a certain visitor I wasn't expecting yesterday evening." He tossed his head a little. "Really, I have no idea how she got inside."

Mrs. Bucket emerged at the front door, having just finished hanging up laundry out in the back. "What's going on, Willy? Did someone really sneak into the factory?"

Willy turned his unblinking gaze on Charlie's mother, continuing to smile. "Not quite."

Finally, Charlie threw one hand up in defeat, running the other hand through his shaggy brown hair. "All right, Willy, all right. I'm sor – "

Willy giggled, interrupting Charlie. "Heehee, sorry kid, 'sorry' isn't quite going to cut it for this one."

"Let me finish, Willy!" Charlie paused, and then sighed. "Look...it's not like I was expecting her or I was playing some kind of huge joke on you. I didn't even know why she was here, she just told me she wanted to see you. She said it was important. There was something about the way she spoke that made me think she's not the same person she used to be." He looked up at his mentor and could almost feel the burn of the fiery glare he was receiving. "It has been eight years, Willy...people change."

Mrs. Bucket looked from the Chocolatier to her son, looking utterly confused. She closed the front door behind her and stepped into the room. "Hold on a second, now...who exactly are we talking about?"

She knew it was going to be bad when he frowned as he looked at her. If it was not something he could say with even a fake toothy grin, it had to be horrible.

"Veruca Salt, that little brute."

"The one that went down the garbage chute, mum," Charlie added to Willy's description.

Mrs. Bucket nodded. "Oh yes, of course, dear...I remember. The one who tried to grab the squirrel's – "

"Let's not make me think about that anymore, Mrs. Bucket, please!" Willy interrupted, holding up a hand to silence her. He was doing a lot of interrupting this morning. "I'm just going to throw away that phone number she gave me and forget she even brought her grubby little self into my precious chocolate factory yesterday."

Charlie lowered his eyes to the floor and shuffled his feet. He wanted to seem as non-confrontational as he could when he said, "Willy...you mean you haven't done that yet?"

Willy knew exactly what Charlie was thinking about. It was a wonder he still remembered. Why had he just flung Mr. Salt's business card over his shoulder without even looking at it all those years ago? Why couldn't he have at least pretended to glance at it beforehand? Ever since that incident, which Charlie had never forgotten, Charlie figured that whenever Willy actually took the time to review something, he thought it the least bit important.

Willy took a step towards Charlie, brandishing his cane in the boy's face. Though Charlie was now nineteen and nearing Willy's height, there was something about the Chocolatier that made it seem like he towered over you no matter what. It was one of the qualities that made him so seemingly dangerous...well, perhaps not just seemingly.

"You listen to me, Charlie. I'm going to tell you the same thing I told the little girl – you may be my protégée, and you may be getting older, but this is still my chocolate factory as long as I'm still living. From now on, I don't want you inviting anybody into my chocolate factory without my consent." He cocked his head to the side, pure fury hiding underneath his boyish facade. "Understood?"

Charlie nodded quickly. "Y-yes, sir."

Willy drew back immediately, apparently appeased. "Well, good then! Meet me in the Inventing Room in two hours, we'll brainstorm! Until then." He tipped his hat at Charlie and left the house, humming cheerfully.

During his two hours free time, he paced around his white-walled room, trying to think of ways to make it more interesting. He started simply, placing a large bowl of assorted brightly-colored candies on the night-table next to his bed. He then dropped down onto his mattress and surveyed the room. He could do a collage of candy-bar wrappers on one of his walls, maybe...but no. Just a few seconds after the idea passed through his mind, he discarded it. He sat quietly for a few more minutes, trying to think of something, anything. Where had all his ideas gone? Why couldn't he think of anything?

Nervously, he began to fidget with his scarlet-colored coat, putting his hands in his pockets to see if there was anything to fiddle with.

His fingers closed on a small piece of paper.

"Huh?" He drew it out of his pocket. "Now what's this?" He asked himself, though he knew perfectly well what he held in his hand; knew perfectly well what he for some reason had not yet thrown away. And even though he knew he shouldn't, he unfolded the paper and let his eyes wander over the numbers written across it. He could not help but glance at the telephone that sat on his dresser, ready and waiting for him to lift the receiver, and...

"Oh...oh dear."

He knew then what he had to do. He had to rip the paper into shreds, throw it in the wastebasket, and be done with it. No more of this silliness. It was simple. Tear up the paper, make it disappear...

Without even realizing it, the Chocolatier carefully refolded the piece of paper and placed it back inside his pocket.