Strange Candy

Summary: On the turn of Charlie's twelfth birthday, a new threat to the factory arises. Charlie learns how important a friend can be. Wonka learns how difficult mentorship can be. Wonka/Charlie friendship, non-slash. Wonka/OC.

Notes: That's it. I figured it out. The setting of Charlie and the Chocolate factory is undetermined…supposedly UK but with some 'Americanization' or whatnot. Therefore, I have no irk with continuing this story as I originally planned. I will try to do my best at combining both UK and American traits. This will be hard, as I am Canadian. Stupid nationalities.

Ah, I see I have failed to mention about my 'OC'. Right. Her. Please do not be alarmed. This is not a Mary Sue. I think I'm incapable of writing a Mary Sue. As I have mentioned before, I write because Mr. Wonka inspires me, not because 25 of the teenage female population has pictures of smiling Johnny Depps on their walls. Hehe. Enough said.

By the way, if anyone can find the little quote I 'borrowed' from a well-loved TV show in this chapter, I'll give them 10,000 Wonka bars. Hint, it's something Wonka says. Hehe.

Notice: This is a very long chapter (6,000 words!). I wasn't expecting it to be this long, but…well, enjoy anyway.

Disclaimer: Consult previous chapter.

Chapter Three: Fears Realized

After his parents and all four grandparents had celebrated his birthday around the table, brought out a fabulous chocolate cake adorned with the creamiest fudge and said their well wishes, Charlie found himself staring absently at his sole birthday present. It was a handheld video game device. His parents had bought it for him with one game, as it was all they could manage with Mr. Bucket's new salary.

On the surface, Charlie was thrilled, turning the device on and fiddling around with the controls for a while. But there lay a certain, empty void in his chest that reminded him how abruptly Mr. Wonka had disappeared after delivering him home.

"I'm sure he'll be back before suppertime, son," Mr. Bucket had assured him. But Wonka had not returned, and now the sky was turning dark. Just as the sun disappeared behind the horizon, Charlie's heart sunk with it.

Grimly, he set the video game on top of the television and turned to his mother. "I'm a bit tired. I'm going to sleep, if that's all right."

Mrs. Bucket said nothing, but bent over to kiss him on the forehead and wished him a happy birthday one final time. He smiled his goodnight and slowly turned to the ladder that led to the second floor.

As he stepped onto the dusty floor of his room, he looked around. He still couldn't figure out why Mr. Wonka had simply...disappeared for no apparent reason. Maybe he'd forgotten about the surprise? That notion, of course, immediately made him feel guilty. The chocolatier was under no obligation to get him anything for his birthday, but...

Charlie decided it was best to ask Mr. Wonka tomorrow. He kicked off his shoes and crawled into his bed, pulling the covers up to his chin. Slowly, he drew in a long breath and felt himself relax as the sweet smell of candy and melted chocolate flooded his senses. He let the smells carry him off into a drowsy, near-unconscious state of sleepless peace…

Until a blinding light filled his room.

Charlie shot up in alarm and scrambled back against the flimsy headboard of his bed. Wildly, he threw one arm up to shield his eyes from the brightness that shone through the gap in the roof. If he had not already recognized the familiar hum of the elevator, he would have begun to panic.

"Charlie!"

That was another sound he recognized -- Mr. Wonka's voice. Charlie crawled to the edge of his bed and stood on the floor, poking his head and shoulders through the open crack. "Mr. Wonka, is that you? I can't see you!"

He received no response. Instead, the light went away, revealing the most unlikely sight.

The glass elevator hovered just outside of his bedroom, with none other than Willy Wonka himself inside. The chocolatier leaned out of the glass elevator door, an arm stretched out towards him. "Grab on! We can't waste another second!"

"Another second for what?" Charlie yelled over the whirring of the elevator's propelling engines.

"No time for questions, Charlie!" Wonka replied with a wide, impish grin. "If we don't hurry, we just might miss it!"

Resisting the urge to ask "Miss what?" and risk the irritation of Mr. Wonka, Charlie glanced behind him. Surely his parents had heard the commotion and would come to investigate! Only the deaf and the extremely hard of hearing wouldn't be able to hear this.

Yet no one came. Maybe they knew all about it? That had to be it. Otherwise, there would be all sorts of confusion involved.

Still, the idea of jumping off the second floor of his house unto a floating glass elevator in the near pitch-blackness wasn't exactly comfortable. Uneasily, he wormed himself through the gap in his roof and clutched the rotting wood for sweet safety.

"Are you sure it's safe?" he called to Mr. Wonka, who appeared to be growing fidgety with impatience.

"Why, of course it's safe! I, Willy Wonka, guarantee that!" Willy gestured with his outstretched hand to indicate the boy to hurry. His eyes were practically glittering with gleeful eagerness. Although Charlie was still doubtful, he didn't want Mr. Wonka to think he wasn't trusting of him. Slowly, he breathed in and held his breath, before grabbing the chocolatier's hand and taking a small jump forward.

He felt himself being half-pulled, half-lifted towards the open door of the flying elevator. With more strength than he seemed to have, Wonka ensured that Charlie landed safely on the edge of the floor. He then moved aside so the boy could have some space to breathe.

Charlie leaned against the glass wall as the elevator continued to hover, undisturbed. He glanced up at the smug-looking chocolatier, who seemed to be avoiding his gaze. "Couldn't you have used the front door…?"

"My dear boy, the front door is for amateurs," Wonka quipped, tilting his head. "Besides, isn't this so much more exciting?"

"If you say so," said Charlie, still slightly short of breath. "I…I thought you weren't going to come."

Wonka's joyful expression fell a little, then froze. And for a moment, just a moment, Charlie felt a little light-headed and strange. In that moment, he couldn't be sure whether or not Mr. Wonka was really there, or if…no, that was entirely ridiculous. Of course he was there, but…

Movement in the corner of his eye shook him out of his split-second daze. Willy wasn't grinning anymore, but he had a slight, mystifying smile. "Well, good incredibly famous chocolate geniuses don't forget their best friend's birthday surprises, so there."

Charlie was now the one grinning like an idiot. "Sorry, I forgot."

"Quite alright, my boy, quite alright. Now-" Mr. Wonka turned abruptly to face the panel of numerous buttons. "Which one was it again…? Oh, yeah."

And hardly that last syllable been spoken than the glass doors slid shut and the elevator jolted into sudden action. Charlie was full well prepared for this kind of movement and managed to keep his feet firmly planted as their transparent transportation sped off towards the ceiling of the green room, where Charlie expected some sort of tunnel or exit would take them outside. Or perhaps another part of the factory? There was no way of telling.

Then, as if he were caught inside some gigantic television set, the world around him flickered away and he was brought to an unfamiliar place. It was dark, and there were shadows everywhere. They moved and giggled hysterically, reminding him for a horrifying moment of the manic laughter of the Oompa Loompas. His breath caught in his throat as he quickly began to back away—

—and bumped into a glass wall. Quickly, he sped around to face his own, slightly see-through reflection. He touched it gently with his fingertips and turned at the same time…

Only to face an empty elevator. Wonka was nowhere in sight. Feeling suddenly sick at heart, Charlie swallowed. "H-Hello? M-Mr. Wonka?"

It would have seemed rather silly to venture his name, had the elevator still been in the air. But it was not flying any longer, nor did it seem to be in operation. Charlie glanced around and nearly lost his balance in shock as his eyes perceived the state of the glass walls. Cracks spread everywhere, like tiny white spiders, cobwebs hung from corners and dust coated much of the surface. No wonder his reflection had been roughly dimmer than usual.

Trembling to some small degree, the boy inched towards the open door to the elevator. He stepped out onto the ground, which felt moist and a little spongy under his feet. It was too dark to see much, besides the faint outlines of vaguely familiar objects. Their silhouettes had such a likeness to something in his memory that he could not quite place immediately. They were almost like…

Charlie gasped and almost jumped with horror and revulsion. It was candy! He was in the Chocolate Room, but the fields of lush, delicious grass was dead and rotting away below him. The great, swirled trees had been cracked and broken, each bush, pumpkin, or anything related to the room had been smashed or cut down. The remains rotted on the ground, like the grass. Charlie spun around, shocked that his surroundings were suddenly becoming so clear. It was a nightmare.

It was then a faint glow caught his eye. Refusing to give into panic, Charlie slowly turned around to face the source of the light. The first thing he noticed was the deep, dry riverbed where the chocolate had once been. It was all dry stone, without even the barest hint of a chocolate stain. And then he looked up.

What he saw was a great, tall cliff he had never seen before, especially not from inside the Chocolate room. It stretched up, towering, so high that Charlie had to crane his neck to see the top. It had to be five stories in height, if not more.

At the very top of this precisely vertical cliff stood Mr. Willy Wonka.

Charlie's heart surged for the shortest moment of his life. For in the same moment, he dared to recognize the odd-shaped shadows moving directly behind the motionless chocolatier – shapeless, shifting shadows with no end and no beginning.

Mr. Wonka was standing with his hands on top of his cane, looking out over the expanse of the room with a wistful smile, as if the room were perfectly glorious, not in sickening shambles.

And then Charlie felt a cold clenching feeling in his chest as he realized that these shadows behind him were moving faster. The horrendous giggling returned, like echoes of pure malice. He realized, too late, what was going to happen.

"Mr. Wonka! Look out!" he screamed, right before the shadows leapt.

Their shapeless form dove onto Wonka's back and the startled chocolatier cried out in surprise. In one maliciously long second, he seemed to fall forward very slowly, as if gravity itself denied that such an event was going to take place.

Then Mr. Wonka lost his balance entirely. The moment he toppled, with horrific grace, the shadows lifted and dispersed, still giggling hysterically.

And Wonka fell, plummeting for the ground below. There was no sound.

Charlie watched, face stricken with horror and grief as the chocolatier plunged.

Falling, to the empty riverbed below.

Falling…

Charlie shot up in bed, his heart pounding in his chest.

The room around him seemed to spin in his mind. He sat frozen, while attempting to make sense of his surroundings. Only half-realizing where he was, he struggled until he was sitting with his legs over the edge of his bed and clutched his head in his hands.

The image of Mr. Wonka plummeting through the air, like a lifeless doll, was printed in front of his eyes. And the horrible wave of helplessness that had washed over him was still there, because he knew and did not know what those manic shadows represented.

It was a dream. It was just a dream.

But it had been so real.

Charlie leapt to his feet and scrambled over to the opening in the roof. His heart lurched when he looked at the room outside.

Lush. Green. Perfect. Chocolate flowed thickly along its way, undisturbed by nasty, dark shadows and not dry in the least. Everything seemed to positively shine under the light that signified morning. Nothing had changed at all, except…

But Charlie had not fallen asleep. How could something so incredibly realistic and terrifying be a dream, even a nightmare? Nightmares faded away once you woke up. He could still remember every intrinsic detail, every swift pitch of dread and grief and the feel of the dusty glass on his fingertips, cold and grainy.

Somehow, he turned himself around and flew down the ladder to the kitchen. His mother was already awake, standing in her usual morning spot beside the stove. Mr. Bucket spotted him first and began to rise from his seat, but Charlie was already off like a shot. He scarcely heard the surprised exclamations of his family as he burst out the door and ran out into the meadows of the Chocolate Room.

He reached the top of the narrow bridge and analyzed the rolling slopes of candy. There was no escaping that sickening sense of doubt that swelled uncomfortably in his chest.

Yet what he saw was Mr. Wonka, standing carelessly at the peak of a nearby cliff, which hung over the boiling river of chocolate. The chocolatier was smiling wistfully as he surveyed his incredibly handsome field of creations.

"Mr. Wonka!" Charlie charged down the slope, nearly sliding across the grass in his enthusiasm.

Willy turned around, his face lighting up characteristically. "Hey, Charlie! You ready to be surp-"

Those words were unexpectedly cut off when ninety pounds of insanely happy boy crashed into him. Mr. Wonka threw his weight onto his cane instinctively and managed to avoid being thrown of the cliff under Charlie's momentum. When he did come around to realizing what had happened, Charlie was clinging to him like…well, candy.

"-prised…?" finished Wonka.

A few moments passed and nothing happened. Wonka cleared his throat uncomfortably and placed a gloved hand on Charlie's shoulder – just barely.

Willy Wonka was not normally a person who tolerated human contact. That was not an extraordinary fact; it was rather well known. This was the same Mr. Wonka who'd frozen like a wet log during winter when certain little Violet Beuregarde had attacked him during the tour in her maliciously sweet way. But Charlie was no Violet. Charlie was Charlie.

Mr. Wonka could tell that the boy had been upset about something. The bottom line was that, awkward or no, prying him away would probably make the poor kid feel worse. And that just wouldn't do at all especially since there was a perfectly good birthday present waiting for him to open, and he didn't want to ruin it by making Charlie feel sad.

It was then Charlie remembered whom he was hugging and abruptly let go. He stepped back and lowered his arms to his sides hesitantly "I'm sorry. I thought you were…I mean, you had…because I saw it, it had to be real, Mr. Wonka, you fell and I-" His throat suddenly became very dry. Babbling on like he was, who wouldn't feel extremely foolish? "I mean, I'm sorry. I thought you had…"

"Forgot your big surprise?" Wonka offered with a helpful smile.

"No," said Charlie, taking a deep breath. "I wouldn't think that, ever. I just…had a bad dream, that's all. I'm glad you're all right."

"Are you sure you couldn't use a piece of chocolate to make you feel better?" the chocolatier wanted to know, leaning over his cane in a familiar way. "It's delicious," he prompted.

"Thanks," Charlie said, shaking his head. "I try to save eating chocolate until later in the day."

Wonka made a 'phhhst' noise that sounded an awful lot like a cross old man refusing a bit of sour wine. "There's never a wrong time to eat chocolate, especially after having a nightmare. It's oh-so-good chocolatey sweetness chases all the bad dream demons away. Didn't you know that?"

Charlie shook his head.

"Well, let that be your lesson today, Charlie. Chocolate is good," said Willy ever more cheerfully. "And on that note, so are birthday surprises. So, what do you say? Ready to be surprised?"

"But I can't yet," said Charlie, his eyes darting a little anxiously towards his house. "I've still got my morning chores to do, and there's breakfast-"

"All of which can be done later, right? It won't take long. Promise." Wonka beamed.

"But I would feel bad for not doing it when it's not even my birthday," Charlie explained. "Wouldn't that be weaseling out of work?"

"My dear boy, weaseling out of things is good!' Wonka said brightly. By now, the duo were casually strolling side-by-side along the bank of the chocolate river. "Weaseling is what separates us from all the other animals," the chocolatier explained. His face fell for a moment as he thought. "Except maybe the weasel."

Charlie laughed. It felt good to at last forget the terrible images of his dream. How could he possibly be worried about Mr. Wonka when it was impossible to stop being amused by him? He knew for a fact that Wonka was doing it on purpose – after all, it was in his nature to brighten Charlie's mood whenever he seemed down in the dumps. It was a very welcome feeling.

Mr. Wonka stopped just in front of the glass elevator door and raised a finger to press the 'open' button when he felt something tug at his pant-leg. An Oompa Loompa, bothering him an important time like this? He frowned a little as he crouched down to listen to the little man's notification. Then he gasped.

"Okay, then, but don't let her in or do anything at all until I get there!" he informed the Oompa Loompa, standing up again. He tried to avoid Charlie's confused stare. "Got it?"

The Oompa crossed his arms over his chest and bowed, before hurrying off to carry out his orders.

"What's wrong?" Charlie asked.

Willy spun around briskly to face the boy, looking none too pleased to have his plans thwarted again by some unexpected setback. He made a bitter expression. "It seems there's an unwelcome visitor trying to get into the factory. The Oompa Loompa says she wants to speak to me. Go figure!"

Charlie could not help but sigh. "You need to take care of this, don't you?"

Wonka squirmed. "Well, yeah, but-"

"Go," said Charlie. "It's all right. You can show me the surprise when it's all over."

Still, the chocolatier looked hesitant to go anywhere. After what was apparently a strenuous mental battle over what was right and wrong, Willy lowered his eyes, turned about and began to walk briskly towards the small door at the opposite end of the room – the door that would lead to the main hallway.

Charlie found a comfortable candy pumpkin to sit on and waited.

April Miranda Banks hated international assignments as much as she hated the cold, ice and slush. Most of the representatives from the Scotland Yard were giving her a hard time with her temporary relocation. And her toes were frozen. From standing outside this bloody gate for so long.

She was as intelligent as she was impatient, which unfortunately were not two traits that combined happily. On many occasions, such as this one, she had found herself muttering, "Federal Bureau of Investigation, my ass," in spite of the terrible attitude she received from the majority of the English population.

If these people fully intend to lock a certified agent of Bureau out in the cold, they have another thing coming, her thoughts boiled. The bars of the thick, iron gates were just inches from her nose. After fruitless attempts to draw attention from inside of the factory, she had given up and began to formulate an alternate plan.

So much for TV dramatics, she continued to think sadistically. If this were television, and this door were made of cheap, film set Styrofoam, I could just kick it down and charge in, gun blazing.

But, no matter how she wished her life were as eventful, this was not a crime-solving drama. She was just a normal FBI representative assigned to tossed-aside, yellow butter file that sane people tended to avoid.

Then again, she was also April Banks, skilled abuser of unnatural double-joints and steeled determination. She would bring this chocolate bastard out of this factory by his hair if she had to, there was no way she was leaving without having her questions answered. Personally.

Then again, I'm the one who's probably crazy, came another thought. She was not here to befriend the owner of this factory. In her mind, she was ready to cuff him and take him straight to headquarters for questioning. She had seen the faces of those children, their symptoms…and she knew that if this 'chocolatier' was responsible, she would grow old happier knowing he was locked away.

Which is where her double-jointed-ness came into play.

The bars of the gate were to closely spaces for any normal-sized woman to squeeze through, but April was by no means normally sized. For twenty-nine, she was very small in stature and lacked the appropriate height for her age. Besides that, she had another trick up her sleeve. Far, far up her sleeve. Smirking diligently, she gripped one of the bars in her right hand and maneuvered her body until she heard, or rather felt, her shoulder pop slightly out of place. With an almost gruesome sense of snaky elegance, she wormed her way through the two bars and toppled into the slush on the other side.

She had been half-expecting an alarm to sound, or pack of security hounds to come racing after her. To her pleased, yet bittersweet surprise, nothing happened at all. The factory remained standing. The sun continued to shine. No men in uniforms with tazers.

Feeling a slight bruise forming on her already malnourished ego, April picked herself up out of the wet, cold muck and brushed majority off her suit. Great, another trip to the drycleaners. Hooray.

With the stiff posture of a woman twice her age, she began to walk briskly towards the large doors situated on the front of the building. So far, she had no idea how she was going to get inside if 'they' continued to ignore her. Maybe she could call in backup.

Yeah, that's right. Help me, I can't even find the suspect! she mocked furiously and silently. Then she stopped short of the door by several feet and looked up. "Excuse me!" she yelled in vain. "My name is April Banks! I'm an agent of the law and I need to speak to Mr. Willy Wonka!"

Right, a little CSI meets Dr. Suess, anyone?

Imagine, to her utter bewilderment (although she did her best to hide it) when the door in front of her lurched to life. She stood motionlessly, staring at the great metal doors parted to reveal a dark, yet oddly cluttered room.

A 'room' wasn't exactly what April would have called it. She took a tentative step forward, trying to discern shadow from solid. It was cloudy outside, making it too dark to see the detail in the numerous objects and structures that surrounded her. Then, suddenly, her eyes adjusted.

They were dolls! Many of them, lifeless, wide-eyed, wooden and plastic dolls with fake grins and painted ears. The shapeless structures were really decorative contraptions in which the mechanical dolls were fixated to. Clearly they were intended to move, or do…something, but as of the moment, their faces were frozen in sheer, listless stupor.

CSI meets Dr. Suess at Chucky's House of Horrors, she corrected mentally, advancing a little warily through the forest of strange things. She could only be so grateful for not wearing heels today. Then again, who in their right mind would wear dress shoes in this kind of weather? And to a monstrous chocolate factory a hundred times bigger than FBI headquarters?

She passed the last display with these thoughts tagging her and stepped onto a finely crafted marble floor. Ahead of her stretched a long, red carpet that led to a deceitfully long hallway. Here she stopped, doubtful that the room ahead of her was as empty as it was large. She was not trained at the Bureau for nothing. In a flash, she spun around to face the entrance to the factory.

A man stood there, tall and rigidly, as if he had been standing there all along. April was both irritated and unsurprised by his attire. He wore a burgundy, off-purplish coattail and tux crossbreed, a twelve-inch top hat and an enigmatic grin. Both of his purple-tinged hands were atop a slender cane, which he held in front of him.

Sure, why not toss in a little Batman Meets the Riddler? April found herself growing more irritated by the moment, especially when this strange man did not move, or speak. At this distance, she couldn't be positive, but…were his eyes purple, too? Why would anyone sane buy purple contacts? To match his outfit?

"Are you Mr. Willy Wonka?" she voiced, too tired and angry to hide the annoyance in her tone.

"Uh huh," said the man, very childishly, and without even twitching his lips in the effort to do so.

This was the fiendish little bastard she was looking for. Her job just became much easier; she had to stop herself from making the arrest right there and then. There was hardly enough proof to make any arrests legitimate right now. But she knew he was responsible. He had to be.

April reached inside of her rather damp jacket and withdrew her license and badge, remaining flat-faced as his eyes flickered over it. "My name is April Banks. I'm an agent of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, an representative of the American embassy for foreign criminals and international crime."

Mr. Wonka's eyes snapped from the license in her hand to her face. But he said nothing.

Fine. She would play his game. "I'm here to ask you a few questions regarding the chocolate made here in your factory."

It was almost as if she had pushed a button labeled 'Energetic Outburst', for his entire face lit up at the mention of the word 'chocolate'.

"Wow! Boy, am I ever relieved to hear that!" he chimed, coming to life as though he were one of the motionless dolls. "I was worried you were one of those mean, awful, rude people who wants to take Charlie away. Or a lawyer. Last time we had one of them, we had to decontaminate the whole chocolate river! It was just…messy!"

April had no idea who 'Charlie' was or why this 'chocolate river' had to be decontaminated because of some lawyer, but those were not questions she was eager to have answered. She crossed her arms.

"Well, Mr. Wonka, I'm afraid you're going to need a lawyer before this matter is settled," she said frigidly. "Unless you're willing to confess the crime that I'm just about ready to arrest you for."

His smile disappeared. His arm froze in the air, mid-gesture before it ever so slowly lowered to rest on his cane again. "I see," he said quietly. "And why is that?"

"Because, Mr. Wonka, there are two very sick children in the state of Michigan who were poisoned by your chocolate," said April seething, advancing towards him with clenched hands. "If you aren't the one who's responsible, I will eat my left shoe."

The pale-faced man wrinkled his nose at this. "Ew, why would you do that? Shoes don't taste very nice at all."

"I wouldn't play cute if I were you," she snapped, moving even closer. Her face was livid now. "I intend to bring you and your factory down, Mr. Wonka. Even if I have to remove every single Wonka bar from shelves across the world, I don't intend on letting any more children suffer from your workers' negligence."

Mr. Wonka changed expressions at least twice before opening his mouth to speak. Then he closed it. Then opened it again. "I'll have you know, the Oompa Loompas never make mistakes. I should know. I taught them myself," he sniffed.

"I have evidence that proves otherwise," she hissed and continued to approach him.

By now the chocolatier had exceeded his forbearance of her nearness. He inched backwards, closing the space between him and the wall. Cornered, to be put bluntly, by a strange woman who clearly didn't like chocolate.

She might have had her chance to wave her evidence in his face had Mr. Wonka not very accidentally bumped into a bright red switch on the opposite wall. The lever clicked, and the sound of whirring gears sprung to life.

As did the dolls. Suddenly, the room around them was filled with a bubbly, energetic tune and the lifeless display jumped to life.

"Willy Wonka, Willy Wonka, the amazing chocolatier…"

Dolls began to spin, lights began to flash and a chorus of elf-like voices sang out from seemingly nowhere at all. Mr. Wonka jolted slightly and whirled around to discern the cause of the ruckus. He forced a reassuring grin, and tried to turn the contraption off via the red switch. Nothing happened.

"Willy Wonka, Willy Wonka, everybody give a cheer…"

A little vexed, Willy tried flipping the lever several times. The dolls continued to sing. Annoying, perky, dolls. Convinced that the display was indeed, broken, Mr. Wonka slowly turned around to face the wide-eyed lady who had so uncouthly invaded his home and factory, still bearing that same, fake grin he bore in such cases.

"He's modest, clever and so smart, he barely can restrain it.
With so much generosity, there was no way to contain it
To contain it, to contain…to contain…to contain…"

By the end of this verse, April was glaring at the offending display. When she snapped her attention back to the 'chocolatier', her eyes were ablaze with sheer disdain. The corners of his mouth dropped instantly. Then he turned and fled into the multitude of moving, singing, robotic little people, one hand clutching his cane tightly and the other steadying his hat as he made his clever getaway.

"Hey!" April lunged after him, knowing she couldn't let this chocolate creep go without answering her questions. For a moment, she forgot the singing, merry little tune and dolls and chased after him into the midst of it all.

Mr. Wonka had vanished.

She was surrounded by singing, cheering dolls and bouncy jingles, and now Mr. Willy Wonka had found away to elude her. April grimaced, ducking just in time before a doll went swooping past her head. She made a split-second decision and began to cross the little 'stage' towards the middle.

"Willy Wonka, Willy Wonka, he's the one that you're about to meet.
Willy Wonka, Willy Wonka, he's the genius who just can't be beat…"

She nearly tripped over the trap door as – of all things – a relatively small 'throne' rose out from the floor. April backed away from it, peering around and over top of the displays in an attempt to find the chocolatier hiding behind them.

She did not know that Mr. Wonka was watching her, from inside the factory. If she had looked, she might have seen his faded silhouette in the shadows off in one corner of the room, but it was difficult to see through anything from where she was. An odd feeling unsettled him, as if there was something he ought to tell her…but he couldn't quite remember what it was.

"The magician and the chocolate whiz, the best darn guy who ever lived…"

Oh, fizzbuttons. Now he remembered.

"Willy Wonka, here he is!"

"Miss, look out!"

It was not Mr. Wonka who cried out, however. Much to the chocolatier's surprise (and momentary horror) it was none other than Charlie who dashed out of nowhere to seize the grouchy lady's arm and pulled her away from the chair and the display as quickly as she would allow him. Roughly about the same time, the 'special effects' erupted in all directions, sending sparks and bits of flame flying everywhere. The spot Mr. Banks had been standing just was now ablaze, as were many of the unfortunate dolls. The music, obviously, had stopped.

Charlie and April Banks half-stumbled onto the snowy steps in front of the ruined display. Against her better judgment, April couldn't seem to close her mouth, finding the entire situation and how close she'd come to singeing her hair off too much to take in at once. With a positively stunned face, she turned her head to look at the young boy who had 'saved' her.

"Are you all right?" he wanted to know.

"I…" She looked at the display, then at the boy once more. "I…suppose," she said, relaxing slightly. Then she realized that she was still clutching his wrist with such pressure it was a wonder he didn't have tears in his eyes. Quickly, she let him go. "What…what was that?" she said disbelievingly.

"Willy's Welcome Song," said the boy with a clearly apologetic wince. "You'll have to forgive Mr. Wonka. I don't think he wanted you to get caught in the grand finale."

April wasn't sure if she'd heard correctly. "It was supposed to do that?" Once more she glanced over to the remainder of the display, which was little more than a few smothered flames and a lot of melted plastic. And some very, very sad-looking doll corpses.

The boy shrugged. This was a little more than she could bear. She sighed.

"I'm sure Mr. Wonka wasn't intending that at all," she said with perhaps too much sarcasm. "I'm sure you don't know where I could find him. Do you live around here?"

Somewhat mysteriously, the boy's smile returned. He tucked his hands into his pocket and turned to look at the factory.

"You live…in the factory?" she nearly gasped.

"My whole family lives here," he said, as if the idea were much more normal than it was in actuality. "Mr. Wonka is teaching me all about the factory. I guess you could call me his heir."

April looked at him more closely. "Are you Charlie?"

Again, the boy nodded. The manner in which he did so was so sweet, she found herself wondering how such a child could possibly be in the employ (or rather, favor) of such an outrageous character as Mr. Willy Wonka.

April would have ventured another question, had she not happened to glance in the direction of the iron gates. When she saw the truck, and the two men standing outside her car, a very helpless feeling washed over. "Oh, shit!" she swore angrily, remembering only too late about her audience. She covered her mouth with her hand. "Sorry," she added. "I can't believe…they're towing my car, those stupid, English…mongrels!" She exclaimed the last word, using it as an impulsive substitute for a much more profane word she would like to have used.

Charlie squinted at her, as if the light of the sky bothered his eyes. "Are you going to stop them?"

"Well, I'm certainly not walking home," she growled. For a moment, she paused, uncertain of what to do. Finally, she produced a folded piece of paper from her pocket and offered it to the boy. "Listen, will you do me a favor and give this to Mr. Wonka? It's extremely important."

The boy took the paper and looked at it strangely. It was not really paper at all, in fact, but a piece of foil. "Is this-"

"From a Wonka bar, yes, but don't look at it until you've given it to Mr. Wonka. I have to go save my car." April flashed a brief smile – it was a rarity to her and the stretching felt off on her lips – and turned to rescue her car. She paused. "It was nice meeting you, Charlie. I hope to be seeing you again in the near future."

"Sure," said Charlie, tucking the piece of foil into his pocket. "Goodbye."

But April was already half-running, half sliding across the frozen courtyard of the factory towards the tow truck and her threatened vehicle. Charlie was not at all surprised to see the gates swing open slightly to allow her to leave, before slamming shut again.

He watched the strange woman argue with the two men for a few minutes before the cold became too much. With a last, curious glance towards the gates, he made his way back into the factory to deliver the message that would change their lives forever.

Sneak Peek: A secret revealed, a heated debate and a problem for Mrs. Bucket.