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: Well, I learned something from your reviews. One, Quietly Making Noise is very good at summing up what could alternately be a very long review in just one sentence. (grins Wonka-style) I like it. Two, Lady of Light needs more jellybeans. Unfortunately, I only have green ones left. The Oompa Loompas took the others. Thank you for you generous compliments! Oh, and three, I am forever convinced that Kokira is actually Willy Wonka in disguise. And apparently…people like…ferrets. Huh. I was going to go with a weasel originally, but they weren't as gosh darn cute.

Also note (these notes will be quite frequent, I must say) that 99 of the FBI mumbo-jumbo I'm making up as I go. I hate to say it again, but…I'm Canadian. We don't have FBI or CIA or even LAPD or NYPD or National Security or S.W.A.T. or…well, you know. We have the RCMP. Royal Canadian Mounted Police. FBI: Guns, flashy badges, long hours of criminal investigation and cool sunglasses. RCMP: Bright red suits, horses, funny hats and coffee.

By the way, and don't mind me, I just think this is funny…but Mr. Wonka's initials spell W.O.W…heh. I didn't realize that until after I wrote the chapter. Wow.

Okay, on with the tour— I mean…story. Hehe.

Disclaimer: Consult the bottom of the chocolate river.

Chapter Five: The Significance of Shadows

April cupped her hands over the small vent on her dashboard, trying to get the numbness out of her fingers. Her replacement car was a joke, no more than a pile of junk than ran on jumping beans and small explosions. Her real car had been towed away at her own expense. They would not release it to her again until the 'paperwork' went through. And why, might one harmlessly ask? Because one Willy Wonka had a small town prohibition passed against parking cars anywhere within one hundred feet of his factory.

It would not be nearly half as bad had the heating system not been broken. Yes, it worked, but only on the lowest setting. Right now, April doubted that a furnace could heat this car. It was too full of holes and it was positively freezing outside.

She had ordered a legal document, which allowed her to park anywhere in the city she wished, including the street outside of Willy Wonka's chocolate factory. Needless to say, this is where she was currently parked. It was a smug little victory, hardly worth the trouble she went through to get it, but still satisfying. She could just imagine that big, chocolate jerk staring at her through his big office window, glowering at his foiled attempt to rid of her.

I'm going to get through this if I have to phone David Carusco himself, she thought bitterly. Although he'd probably want to stay in Miami. Nice, hot, sunny Miami. CSI…unrealistic make-believe.

Her former colleague, Truman, would argue of course. Then again, Truman had always been a field agent and never, ever went international. He was a drama artist, much more than he was an agent of the bureau.

April glanced over at the man sitting in the passenger seat of 'her' car, unsure of what she should think. After unsuccessfully interrogating the suspect the night prior, her commanding superior had chosen to first, chew her out and blame her for being the worst case of FBI scum ever. Then he had sent her back, and not alone.

Louis Wallstein was a permanent international FBI representative, which basically meant he was an American citizen living across seas. April had known him for less than two weeks, but she was positive that this guy either had no life, or he was very good at hiding it.

"Is something wrong?" he asked with a husky, slightly amused voice. His brow creased intently.

She jerked her head the other way and proceeded to grip the steering wheel tightly in her hands. "No, nothing's wrong," she said with forced patience. "I'm just thinking. That's all."

"Thinking? C'mon, Banks, this is a nut case. You failed to flush out the suspect, I got called in to open the jar of pickles. Or jelly beans. Take your pick."

"That's not--" she started, and lowered her voice, "—it. This isn't an ordinary factory, Louis. The owner is psychotic as far as I can tell. He probably runs his own mafia."

"You scared?"

"I'm not scared of anything," she replied shortly, glancing over her shoulder, then back to him. "That's not all. There's a small boy living here-"

"A kid? This guy has his own damn offspring? I thought you said he was a whacked-out weirdo!" Louis gestured lazily and set his elbow on the car door, looking frustrated.

"He is. I mean, that's what I think he is, and for all we know, this child could be anyone. He mentioned something about his family."

"Wait a minute, you talked to this kid? Does Patterson know about this?"

"In three different languages. Now, the boy said he was Mr. Wonka's heir, which means he's either his son, or someone he chose to take over his business."

"Chose or kidnapped?" grunted Louis, furrowing his eyebrows.

"No, or he wouldn't have mentioned his family. That could only leave blood relation, or an actual legal adoption."

For a long moment, Louis seemed to considering this with his hand pressed over his lips in deep thought. For a middle-aged, balding man with a slightly bulging gut, he still maintained his professional manifestation. "All right, so how much background do you actually got on this guy?"

April sighed. "Not much. Typical little guy running his own candy shop, makes it big, opens a factory and disappears for fifteen years. Apparently there was some sort of contest last year where Mr. Wonka let five children tour his factory. In order to take the tour, you had to find some kind of ticket hidden beneath-"

"A Wonka bar wrapper, yeah," said Louis with a rude snort. "My youngest daughter went crazy over it. She must've bought twenty chocolate bars and cried for days when she didn't get a ticket.

She was only half-listening, to be honest. Truthfully, there was no one alive on the face of the Earth who had not heard of the famous search for golden tickets. She hated that kind of hype.

"Anyway," she said. "One of the children, an eleven-year-old boy, won something. That's all I know. According to the press, the boy's name wasn't released due to security and privacy reasons, and neither was the nature of the grand prize."

"So what you're saying is that, this boy you spoke to might be that kid who won some sort of prize?" mused the older agent. "Hmm. Any files on missing children reports or child abductions in the past year?"

April shook her head. Surprisingly, the entire city had responded to her questions regarding the boy living at the factory with offense. They had seemed angry that she would dare accuse Willy Wonka of being a suspect of any kind of crime.

She was jerked from her thoughts by the sound of a car door handle clicking. Her eyes traveled to Louis, who was already stepping out of the car and into the snow. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath before opening her own door and exiting through the driver's side.

They shut their doors almost simultaneously. April paused beside the beat-up old car as she wedged a pair of brown leather gloves onto her hands. They did little for warmth and less for fashion, but at least it was secure in the means of forensics. Should the factory become a crime scene in the next few days, she didn't want her fingerprints showing up in lab results.

She followed Louis up to the large, iron gates and tucked her fingertips into the sleeves of her coat. At least she had thought to wear a coat this time. Louis had not. Yet he didn't show any sign of giving into the cold, which worsened her mood and of course, made the weather seem even colder.

"Friendly-looking place, isn't it?" said Louis, squinting his eyes at the enormous building. "Doesn't this guy believe in an open-door policy?"

"His candy is famous all over the world. He doesn't need friends or well-wishers," she reminded him, staring the iron gate down. "Don't expect a welcoming party. They don't exactly admit everyone who asks politely."

Louis grunted again and slowly walked the length of the gate, scanning the arch of stone above them. "Who said anything about asking politely?"

With that, he reached behind him, drew his gun and targeted something on the leftmost part of the arch. He fired, and a shower of sparks rained down on them, combined with the horrid stench of burning wires and plastic. April, having tensed at the unexpected shot, looked up to see the remains of a small, grayish white box fixated on the inner part of the stone arch. It smoked around the bullet that was now embedded in its middle.

"These old-fashioned type gate mechanisms are all the same," said Louis calmly, tucking his gun back into its holster. "There's always a fuse box. Destroy it, and you destroy the electronic locking system." As if to prove his theorizing, he reached out and pushed on the iron bars in front of him. With a grudging creak, it swung open.

"I sincerely hope you weren't trying to impress me," she said, sweeping her eyes over the stone arch. "Because back at headquarters, they call that 'breaking and entering'."

"Actually, it's called 'legal productivity' when you've got one of these babies," said the older agent, taking a paper from the inside of his jacket and passing it to her.

She took it, sighed and dropped her arm to her side. "A warrant. I should have guessed. Would you mind telling me how you got one of these without having any initial contact with the suspect?"

Louis shrugged. "I asked politely," he said with convincing innocence. Without waiting for her response, he turned around and began to walk towards the main entrance to the factory.

April glared at his back for a begrudging moment, caught in the backwash of his sense of humour. She clasped her arms tightly to herself and trotted to catch up with him, eventually surpassing him with a wicked side-glance. His amused chuckling followed her all the way to the doors.

What she wouldn't give to have Truman back.

Everything had returned to normal once morning came around, when Charlie found himself waiting anxiously for his day of work to begin with Mr. Wonka. At least, everything was as normal as it was likely to become with a ferret on his shoulder and hands covered in thick, sticky goo.

That had been his fault, partly. He had accidentally touched a gummy tree in its early sapping stages and nearly gotten himself stuck, had the Oompa Loompas not been nearby to un-stick him. Now Charlie was standing on the bank of the chocolate river, just a few meters from the spot the bright pink boat normally landed. This was where Mr. Wonka had instructed him to wait, just as he did every weekend, all the time.

This time, however, he had Oswald to keep him company. He had found that the little ferret was in fact, much more intelligent than Mr. Wonka had credited him for. For one, the ferret seemed to listen to and understand everything Charlie said. He could scurry off occasionally, but never failed to return to his perch immediately if Charlie called on him. To put it simply, Oswald adored Charlie, and Charlie was beginning to feel mutual. It was nice to have someone, even a ferret, listen all the time.

He had told Oswald all about the nightmare from the night before and even went as far as admitting how frightened he had been afterwards. The thoughts made his insides squirm. Never, ever again did he want to envision that terrible fall…

"I know it sounds silly," he told the ferret, strolling placidly along the edge of the bank. The chocolate flowed lazily beside him. "It's silly, but…I like Mr. Wonka. He's my friend, just the way he is. Why would someone want to hurt him? He doesn't deserve it."

Oswald had no intelligent response to this of course, but he did bob his head a little. That reassured Charlie as much as if the little ferret had given a speech on agreement.

"Do you think I should just forget about it?" the boy asked thoughtfully. "I guess it's pointless to keep thinking about it. Mum says if you always live in dreamland, you forget about real things. Real things like the factory, and the real Mr. Wonka. I should be happy that it was just a nightmare, but…" He stopped at the top of a knoll overlooking the river. "But…I'm still afraid. Afraid that it will happen again. Except this time, I won't wake up, because it's not a dream…"

Charlie stared into the thick river of chocolate, becoming lost in almost unnatural miserable contemplation. What would become of him, of his family, if something ever did happen to Mr. Wonka? What would Mr. Wonka do if something happened to Charlie? Would he throw his family out, or shut down the factory?

No, he thought immediately. He would never do that. He would make sure they were taken care of, even if he found another heir to take over the factory.

But then, what would happen if something happened to both him, and Mr. Wonka?

They'd definitely close the factory, he concluded, shoving his hands in his pockets. It was happening again. The uncontrollable sadness he felt whenever he thought of losing Mr. Wonka, not only because the factory would shut down in such an even, but because he desperately wanted to have Mr. Wonka around forever.

Forever was a very long time, however. And for everything Mr. Wonka was, he was not immortal. Someday, whether it was sooner or later, he would be gone…and Charlie would be left alone.

How strange it felt to him, to abruptly stop caring about his own career. What did owning a gigantic chocolate factory and the whole Wonka industry mean anyway, if there was no more Wonka? What would it matter to him? Charlie didn't want the fame, the chocolate, or the money. He didn't care about it all half as much as he cared about Willy Wonka.

That's too bad, nagged the cold, reasoning voice of truth from the back of his mind. Because one day, he'll be stone dead. You won't have any friends anymore. You'll be all alone, just like him.

Apparently, Oswald had a gift for interpreting Charlie's moods from the slightest signs, for the ferret seemed to know exactly what was running through his mind and curled up tightly against his collar. Absently, the boy reached up and stroked the soft fur on the ferret's back whilst he continued to stare straight on ahead.

Just like a drifting cloud of smoke, his mingled feelings of grief and guilt suddenly brought upon a wave of dizziness and fatigue. Alarmed, Charlie tried to struggle against the strange sensation of losing consciousness, but then it wasn't really like fainting at all. It felt as if someone had stepped through a door in his mind and was taking control of his body. But instead of making it move, it was causing his knees to wobble, his joints to ache painfully and a horrible throbbing sensation to burn inside his head.

And then he recognized it. The very same, chilling, bone-rattling feeling he had when he saw those shadows. Now that he listened, he heard the manic giggling burst out of nowhere. The shadows had him and they were draining his strength away like milk through a straw.

The room around him reeled dangerously. Just before he lost his balance, he felt Oswald leap from his shoulder in terror. And the ground left his feet, or he feet left the ground, whichever was appropriate. Then he was falling forward, into absolute nothingness.

He heard, rather than felt the boiling chocolate swallow him whole when he landed in the river. His body jolted awake, as if released from a devastating spell. He began to sink through the hot, melted chocolate, tasted it in his mouth and felt it glide through his fingertips as he floundered aimlessly. He could not see, or hear anymore. He couldn't tell which way was up or down, left or right. There was no telling how far down he was.

Suddenly, his head broke the surface and he heaved himself up, gasping. Liquid chocolate ran into his eyes and his mouth and he began to cough as he accidentally inhaled some of it. The current tore at his limbs and he was down again, beneath the surface, being carried away by the course of the river.

He tried his best to swim against it. He clawed furiously at anything he touched, desperate to snag onto something, anything. Yet it was all in vain, for his fingers simply scraped against solid stone, and once he managed to snatch a few blades of grass in between his fingertips, but they snapped and he was swept away.

This was worse than any normal river or pool he had ever been in. The chocolate was five times thicker than water and the current way too strong for him to battle. He knew what was ahead and he knew he couldn't possible survive being tossed down raging rapids. Again and again he threw out his arms, floundering without success to catch on.

And then the world dropped away from him.

Charlie screamed in fear and pain as the river churned and surged forward, throwing him into the slope and vicious torrent. Almost at once, he was crushed against the side of the tunnel before being pulled under again. His body twisted and turned aimlessly, careening into the wall more times than he could count. His lungs were on fire; his eyes stung something terrible. All the while he yelled incoherently, unsure of whether he was above or below the surface.

Finally, he plunged into the deeper part of the river inside of the cavern. Even though the current had weakened considerably, so had Charlie. He felt he could barely move his arms to attempt to reach the surface. He tried anyway, pulling with the last morsel of his strength at the churning chocolate until he couldn't pull anymore.

As his limbs gave in, his body suspended for a moment in the middle of the chocolate. Charlie could feel the cool air on his fingertips as his hand broke the surface, but he found that his arms would no longer obey him. There was no way to propel himself upwards. He began to sink, his fingers twitching as the warm chocolate swallowed them up.

This…this is it, he thought, descending ever so slowly through the seemingly bottomless river. His chest screamed; his head swelled. I can't breathe…it…it hurts. Mum, Dad…Mr. Wonka…

His body was so numb, he barely felt the hand plunge through the chocolate and seize him by the wrist. Quite suddenly, he found himself being heaved upwards, dragged through the syrupy river until his hand broke the surface again. He rose and rose until…

His head broke free! Charlie choked, trying to inhale and spit the chocolate from his mouth at the same time. Somehow he managed to gulp in great lung-fulls of oxygen without passing out, although his lungs felt as if they were going to burst open any moment.

Still coughing and sputtering, he willingly allowed himself to be hauled onto the edge of the river, but by no means did he have the strength to hold on to the stone floor. His rescuer evidently realized this and lifted him up by both arms until he was sprawled on the ground like a half-dead fish. Charlie rolled over onto his back, his chest heaving in and out. His eyes still stung, but no longer from the chocolate, but from tears of relief and agony. His body was bruised in several hundred places, it seemed, and it hurt so badly…

Although his sight was blurry, it was returning. He was dimly aware of a face hovering over him. A voice was drifting to his ears, however clogged with chocolate they were.

"Charlie…Hey, Charlie! Deep breaths, 'Kay? In an out, just keep breathing, that's the key. Breathe, my dear boy, breathe!"

And breathe Charlie did, until his chest ached a little less and the pounding in his head had been reduced to a little tremor. His vision came into focus, and he very abruptly understood why the strange face and the voice were so familiar.

"M-Mr. Wonka…?" Charlie foolishly tried to sit up and was rewarded with a great deal of pain around his ribs. Hissing sharply, he lay back again and skewed his eyes shut. "I…I'm sorry…I didn't mean-"

"Oh, balderdash! Why in Lolliloompa Land would you fall into the chocolate river on purpose?" said Willy with no trace of irritation. Instead, he sounded as if he were on the verge of breaking down. "I think you swallowed just a bit too much chocolate there, Charlie!"

Charlie's chest convulsed with a silent laugh, which inevitably made it hurt even more. He groaned and waited for the sudden surge of pain to die away. He felt something tickle his neck and attempted to brush it away, only to find a small, sleek body neck to his head.

"Your furry little friend ran to get me right after you fell in," Mr. Wonka explained with a tinge of pride in his voice. "It's a good thing I was already on my way or I just may have…" Suddenly, his face fell and he looked positively frightened. A split moment later, he forced himself to grin reassuringly. "See? I knew Oswald was the most splendiforus idea ever! To think what might have happened if I hadn't given him to you for your birthday!"

"Let's not," Charlie told him with a pained smile. "I don't ever want to eat chocolate again. At least…not for a very long time."

Willy gasped in horror and curled his fingers close to his body. "Hey! That was uncalled for!"

Charlie laughed weakly, bracing himself against the pain. "Sorry. I…Mr. Wonka, thank-"

"Nuh uh!" the chocolatier interrupted briskly. He cupped his hands over his ears and rolled his eyes towards the ceiling. "Lalalalalala…not listening to 'thank you' again, thank you very much! Gosh, Charlie, all I did was save you from drowning in the most delicious, delectable chocolate in the world. If anything, you should hate me!"

Charlie's face broke into a grin, one that did not last very long at all. For the pain in his ribs became overbearing; his head was clearly fed up with his searing nerves. Mr. Wonka's face began to fade away, the corners of his vision turning dark.

He closed his eyes and immediately blacked out.

There were three shadows. Charlie was watching them through invisible eyes, watching as the scene unfolded before him. The shadows were giggling hysterically, although they did not move and did not seem to realize he was there at all. Their giggling turned into whispering, the whispering into soft voices.

All three of them were human-shaped, but Charlie only recognized one. It was Willy Wonka. He could see his face and his eyes, purple, the only colour amidst the black, blurry figure. There was something odd about the way he was standing, as if he were trying to protect something from the other shadows…

Charlie then realized that there were four shadows, and not three. The fourth one was small, crouching close to the ground behind Mr. Wonka. As he continued to stare at it, it took shape. It was him.

This would not have been so alarming had he not realized what the other two shadows were doing. They stood apart from each other. The one closest to Mr. Wonka had one arm stretched out towards the chocolatier. Something was in its hand, but the details were too vague to make out completely. The third figure, a somewhat smaller and slighter one, was standing similarly with both arms stretched out towards the second shadow. Something was gripped tightly in its hands.

The voices went on, too softly and too muddled for Charlie to hear, but they spoke. All of a sudden, the same, shapeless mass of black fog from his first dream leapt out of nowhere and seized the third, smallest figure. After a brief struggle, it collapsed and the fog laughed. Giggled. Oh, how Charlie hated that sound…

The head of the second shadow turned towards the dead one, then slowly turned back to Mr. Wonka. Charlie saw Mr. Wonka tremble in fright, edging as close to the shadow-Charlie as possible.

Too late did Charlie realize what the second shadow held. There was a brief flicker of light and the dulled sound of a bang. Shadow-Wonka jerked, wavered on his feet for what was surely an eternity, before then collapsing.

Charlie watched as his shadow screamed and flung itself over Wonka's body. There the shadow clung, sobbing with a dread-filled heart. Slowly, almost lazily, the second shadow and the wielder of the gun advanced on him.

The gun was raised; another voice spoke mildly.

Flash of light.

And then darkness.

Sneak Peek: Confrontations and cold, blunt reality. Plans are…'foiled'. Hehehe.