Title: Pure of Heart
Author: Hellsfire.scythe
Disclaimer: I do not claim to own Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, that belongs to the good man Raold Dahl. I also have no right to claim that Pet Shop of Horrors is mine, for the it rightfully belongs to its brilliant author whose name I shamefully do not remember.
Chapter: 9/9
Chatper Summary: And everything winds down.
Summary: When Charlie turns eleven years old, 'What more does a boy want than a pet?' thinks Willy Wonka. Their trip to a local pet shop brings more surprises than 'just a pet' as competition begins to rear its ugly head. CatCF/PSoH
Time Setting: This is set a little more than one year after Charlie gets into the factory and a bit after volume ten of Pet Shop of Horrors.
Chapter Nine: Epilogue
"Mr. Wonka, wake up! Mr. Wonka?"
Bleary violet eyes blinked open and Charlie scooted himself back to give the man space. Imagine the surprise of the Buckets and Dr. Wonka when they received a phone call from Terry (Willy's trusted psychiatrist) in the middle of the night telling them to come back. Apparently, the chocolatier was running a fever of some sort. The Great Glass Elevator immediately landed in front of Dr. Wonka's flat and everyone piled in, anxious to see the condition of the chocolatier.
"Huh? Wha-what's going on?" Wonka winced as he sat up abruptly, "Golly, yowch!"
"Honestly, you shouldn't strain yourself. You had a fever, Willy." Mrs. Bucket admonished gently, she pushed him back into his plump pillows. Charlie cocked his head as he saw Wonka's eyes dart around, taking in the plush surroundings of his room as if seeing it for the first time. The chocolatier's night cap slid over one eye but was ignored. It had been Charlie's first time inside the chocolatier's quarters, but this was Willy Wonka's room. Why would he be surprised at seeing it?
"Are you going to be alright?" Charlie took Wonka's, for once, ungloved hand in his own. Thankfully, the man didn't flinch much and Charlie smiled.
Slowly, the chocolatier pulled the cap off his head. He sat back up again and flashed a confused smile. "I. . .I think so." With a free hand, Wonka slowly touched his linen-clad shoulder. Charlie's own confusion grew as a look of shock flickered through Wonka's eyes.
"Is there something wrong?" asked Charlie. Wonka shook his head, making his hair swish quickly back and forth.
"I think he still needs some rest," boomed Dr. Wonka's voice from a squashy armchair. "If I remember correctly, fevers usually take a lot out of Willy." With more than a little impatience, the elderly man herded the Buckets out of Willy's quarters. The younger Wonka gulped and pulled his covers up to his nose as Wilbur Wonka's steely gaze rested on him
Break.
Pieces of the small crystal orb caught the morning light and scattered rainbows throughout the room. Willy stared at the Promise he had made and broken to Charlie.
"You're quite lucky I found it in this state before Charlie did, I'm sure he would have been quite upset."
Wonka wrinkled his nose as his father's words echoed back to him. As usual, the dentist was correct, if Charlie had seen this, there would be a lot of uncomfortable questions to answer concerning the other night. What had happened that night? How in theworld had he ended up in his room?
"All I remember is Feng Huang appearing out of no where and then a gun shot. . ." His already pale visage grew even whiter. What had happened to her? What happened to Slugworth, and Ficklegruber, and Prodnose? "A gun shot?" He looked back out of his window and stared down at the pristine sidewalk just outside of his factory gates. There was nothing there. Suddenly, images of blood and bodies filled his mind. He staggered back from the glass and sagged into his bed, his hands clutching his head.
There was a knock on his door and Wonka stared listlessly as an Oompa-loompa entered carrying his regular clothing. Wildly, he snatched up his plum-red coat and perused it for anything out of the ordinary. There. On left shoulder. He couldn't even make out the stitching for the darned area. 'There was a bullet hole there. . .' Fred did his job all too well. There was no sign of blood anywhere on the rich velvet, but, how did that wash out? With more than a little wariness, the Oompa-loompa handed the rest of Wonka's folded clothing up to him.
"Yeah, thanks." Wonka numbly accepted the pile and watched as the Oompa-loompa exited the room, closing the maroon door behind him. Seconds later, the door opened again. This time Terry walked through, black notebook in hand and seemingly ready for an appointment with the chocolatier.
"You seem a lot better now," announced the Oompa-loompa when Wonka did nothing but stare. "We were getting worried."
The sound of rustling clothes interrupted the few seconds of silence as Wonka picked up his coat again and stared at its unblemished surface. "Y-you mean, what happened last night, really ―"
Wonka stopped when Terry nodded stiffly back. "A rather. . . odd man brought you in. I was still in my office at that time and managed to catch up to him," the Oompa-loompa glanced over Wonka again and the chocolatier frowned in frustration. What? What was the matter?
"Is my head on wrong or something?" Wonka's demanded in a clipped voice.
Terry ignored the man's frustration and calmly clambered up into a squishy armchair. Somehow, the Oompa-loompa still managed to look dignified while doing so. "No, Willy. You're head is. . ." the little man paused and looked a bit thoughtful before finding a way to finish. "on quite the same way it always is." At Wonka's look of impatience, Terry decided to continue with his recount. "You were in blood. The man somehow found his way to your quarters and disposed you there."
"What about my clothes? The blood?"
"The blood was gone, your clothing changed and clean, and you were in rather good condition."
"The man?"
"Disappeared," finished Terry. The psychiatrist reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a folded envelope. "This was left in my office."
With that, the Oompa-loompa hopped off the chair and exited the room.
Shakily, Wonka picked up the creamy paper and broke open the seal of the envelope. A golden hair pin encrusted with diamonds and rubies felll from the letter to his lap. He stared at the strange calligraphic handwriting flowed smoothly over the heavy paper.
Dear Mr. Wonka,
It was a pleasure to know you, you'll be happy to know that your candy horticulture has grown quite nicely and it tastes even better.
Do be more careful next time.
Goodbye.
-D
PS: I'll have you know that I bought all the boxes of Whipple Scrumptious Delight that I could before my departure.
Violet eyes widened. 'Departure?' thought Wonka. He snatched the bejeweled pin and then brought the letter closer to his eyes. What about Feng Huang? What happened to her? His thoughts raced back to the previous night.
A gunshot rang through the air.
Wonka dashed madly out of his room.
Break.
Leon staggered out of the obnoxious cab and growled an unappreciative curse towards the driver. It was ignored and the blond detective received a face full of acrid smelling exhaust as the vehicle vroomed away.
"Bastard,"
There it was. A grin spread across Leon's face when he read the sign in the window. 'Count D's Pet Shop'. "I finally have you, D."
Confidently, he marched toward the elaborate red doors of the shop and grasped a warm bronze handle. It door didn't budge. Leon made an irritated face and yanked harder on the door. Nothing.
He bit his lip, apprehension actually dared to creep into his mind before he furiously pushed it away. Heh, no way. Maybe D was out, yeah, he was getting some more candy or something. There's no way. . . no way.
Footsteps pattered down the street. There he was! Leon turned to surprise the Count, but found himself face-to-face with. . .not the Count. A frightened squeal burst into the air from the strange being. Leon yelped and stumbled back. For a few moments, all that was exchanged between the two for a minute was ragged breathing.
'What a fucking weirdo.'
"Watch where you're going next time."
A pair of eyes snapped up in shock. A pair of purple eyes.
'What the fuck?'
The sound of a cane planting itself firmly onto the cement snapped through the silence. "MUMBLER!"
Leon found himself being shoved aside by the rather colorful looking cane. A murderous glare entered his eyes as he listened to the being now identified as a man talk to himself.
"Honestly, I don't understand these Americans. Mumblers the lot of them! That Teevee kid was bad enough," the man went through the same attempts Leon did to open the door, it still didn't budge.
"You one of D's customers?" Leon drawled, he casually stuck his hands into the pockets of his jeans, but inside he could feel his heart rate increase.
The man flinched and jerkily turned his face in Leon's direction. "Yes, what if I am?"
"I'm just askin' no need to snap. Jeez."
After a few more attempts at the door, the man's shoulders sagged and he gave up. He gave Leon a wary look before pressing his lips into a thin line. "What are you here for?"
Leon shook himself out of his thoughts and looked at the man. "What did you say?"
An impatient sniff sounded from the man and Leon raised an eyebrow at the sound of squeaking latex. The guy was wearing lavender rubber gloves. He knew that the Brits were strange, but this guy just exceeded them all. "What are you here for?" repeated the man slowly as if speaking to a delinquent.
"Not that it's any of your business, but I'm lookin' for D." answered Leon through gritted teeth. This guy was honestly asking for trouble.
Some unidentifiable emotion flitted over the man's face before he turned smartly away on his heel. "I don't think you'll find him here anymore."
"Wait! What!" shouted Leon. But it was too late. The man was already walking away towards something at the end of the block.
Bam!
The man collided into something and slipped onto the ground. Leon stood for a moment in shock. What just happened? Gingerly, the man got onto his feet and pressed his thumb against something. There was a chiming noise and Leon gaped as he finally saw the outline of an elevator. A freaking glass elevator. Wait, top hat, weird coat, cane, glass elevator? That would mean ―
"Hey! You're Willy Wonka!"
The shout was drowned out by the sound of roaring fire blasting out of the contraption. Leon watched as the elevator flew away towards the giant-ass factory in the middle of the town.
"Fuck."
He had really screwed this up hadn't he?
"I don't think you'll find him here anymore."
Leon turned as footsteps slowly wandered down the sidewalk and stopped in front of the shop. A burly man grunted as he unrolled a poster from under his arm. It was quickly taped up and the man walked away, never acknowledging the tall American that stood staring at the sign.
Sold.
"Shit." Leon mumbled. Quickly, he wiped something out of the corner of his eye. "Stupid allergies," A barely audible sniff made its way out of his mouth before he trudged wearily down Magnolia Avenue.
Break.
The moon shown clearly in the night sky as pearly white clouds rolled gently underneath the prow of the ship. Count D stroked the silky head of a white tiger that purred loudly against his waist.
"It was about time to leave that little town anyways." He quietly murmured to himself. "I had been hearing rumors about our dear detective being rather close in the area."
"So what, we're running away again, eh D?"
The kami's eyes narrowed fractionally as he turned to see T-chan lounging on the roof of a cabin.
"Not, running away. . .just avoiding confrontation."
"Same thing," T-chan's fangs glistened as he smirked.
Pon-chan dashed out of the cabin. "D! She's hatching!"
Count D pulled himself away from the comforting view of the night and silently glided towards the cabin.
No matter how many times things would end. They would always start over, right from the beginning, like a never ending cycle. It was much like the life of a phoenix, birth by flame, death by flame, always starting, always ending.
It was a pity that he couldn't stay in that town any longer that he did. He had never really encountered anyone quite like Willy Wonka. Well, he had never encountered anyone quite like the detective either, but. . .
"Count D!"
"I'm coming."
Break.
"Look! Mr. Wonka! I can't believe it! Your candy is selling spectacularly!" Charlie Bucket raced through the door and into Wonka's office.
"Our candy, Charlie," Wonka corrected.
It had been a few months since that incident-which-is-never-to-be-mention-in-front-of-Charlie. To Charlie, it seemed as if nothing had ever happened, in fact, oddly, all of the Buckets didn't seem to remember much of what had happened before the incident.
"Hey Charlie, do you know where Feng Huang is?"
The boy turned and looked at him with curious blue eyes. "Feng Huang? Is that one of your candies Mr. Wonka?"
Wonka shuddered, whether it was about the thought of Feng Huang as a candy, or the idea that Charlie was chillingly oblivious to the past half year he had spent with the 'pet', he wasn't sure.
"What's the matter, Mr. Wonka?"
"Ah, nothing, dear Charlie," Wonka replied with a disarming smile. "You better get back to your schoolwork, or else your mother will throw a fit at me."
"Mom has never thrown a fit at you, Mr. Wonka."
"Well, I don't want her to start now!"
His thoughts turned back to the events that followed Charlie's eleventh birthday when the boy exited the room. Dr. Wonka, or . . .dad, had said something about meeting a strange character before entering the factory with the Buckets after the 'incident'.
"When that man's gaze fell on us, I felt as if I had just woken up from an anesthetic," Dr. Wonka paced thoughtfully in Willy's quarters. "It was a strange feeling." The elder man stopped and looked directly at his son. "He told us to forget, to forget everything that had happened," At that, Dr. Wonka paused. "Then he vanished."
Vanished. Like everything else that had to do with the 'incident'.
Wonka pushed himself away from his desk and chewed on his cherry-flavored pen. With a sigh, he ambled toward the door. As he passed by the window, something gold glittered brightly on his breast pocket.
The door to Wonka's office closed. The hum of the factory continued on as it always had. A chapter in Wonka's life was ended. It was time to start a new one.
On Wonka's desk, a newspaper lay spread open on the 'International' news page. One headline was circled with bright red ink.
Man Found Chewed To Pieces in Bangladash
It seemed that he wasn't the only one starting over.
End.
Thus ends the Pure of Heart story. I might have to change the title, it has almost nothing to do with the actual story. Any suggestions -
I thank everyone who has been with me this whole entire bumpy ride of writing this. This story really ran away with itself, and I'm proud to have finally finished it. Any comments? I'll be eternally thankful and will take any. Thank you once again to those people who have always managed to inspire me to write and continue on with this little story.
Hellsfire.scythe