later that evening...

Willy's home was not spacious, but it had every luxury a man of his means could possibly want. Since moving in, Willy had managed to acquire a couch large enough for six people to sit on (not that he had any friends to invite over), a television set that came up almost as high as his chest (not that he ever watched it), and various other bits and pieces that made his home life pleasurable. The only thing that he really missed was companionship: someone to come home to, someone to ask 'How was your day, Willy?' and console him when business wasn't going as well as he had hoped or congratulate him when a new sweet was selling successfully. He hadn't ever really had that, except from his mother and that wasn't the same thing, was it? And after all, he hadn't seen her since he was eight years old...

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

There had been no trace of what might have happened to her. The evidence pointed to her just packing up and leaving, and not wanting to be found seeing as there hadn't been any sort of note to say where she had gone. But, as Willy's father had been quick to point out to the police, all of Mrs. Wonka's possessions were still in the house. Nothing had gone missing, not even a toothbrush.

The only thing that anyone knew was that Mrs. Wonka had been at home alone, doing a bit of mending. When Mr. Wonka and Willy got back from meeting with Willy's teacher at school, Mrs. Wonka was gone. They immediately called the police because, with the absence of a note, it frightened them both to think that she might have been carried off. The police sent officers to every shoppe and home in town to ask if anyone at all had seen Mrs. Wonka that night. No one had...

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Willy snapped out of his trance-like flashback when he heard the soft clicking sound of his front door being opened and shut. 'Odd, I could have sworn I closed that,' he thought, pausing in the middle of brushing his teeth. That lollipop he'd eaten during the meeting with Mr. Wheeler had stained his entire mouth blue and he hated the thought of going to bed like that. After rinsing his mouth of the minty toothpaste, Willy stepped out into the hall and looked down it towards the entryway. There was no sign that what he had heard was dangerous, nothing was moved about or missing, but that didn't necessarily mean that everything was alright.

Deciding that a closer look was in order, Willy grabbed the fire-poker from its stand in his bedroom (he had no fireplace, but kept the tools anyway; there was just no knowing when they might come in handy), then turned and began to creep down the hall. His heartbeat was steadily gathering speed as he crept along the hall, gripping the fire-poker as if it were a sword. A small rustling sound made Willy jump. His heart was racing now and his palms were clammy and sweaty. Nothing there, except for a piece of crumpled paper he vaguely remembered dropping there that morning. And then came the voice, for which Willy could find no source. It almost seemed to be coming from inside his head.

Hello, Willy. There's nothing to be afraid of.

"Who-who's there? How did you get in?"

Oh, that doesn't really matter, now does it, Willy? You see, the only thing that matters is that I have come for you.

"C-come for me? But I-"

It is not necessary that you understand, the voice said curtly, cutting Willy off as if the owner of the voice had known what Willy was going to say before he said it. Do you see that piece of paper on the floor? Pick it up.

Willy's hand was shaky as he bent down slowly to retrieve the paper.

Throw it in the nearest wastebasket.

Willy complied, choosing the one in the bathroom. "What happens now," he asked, still looking all around for the source of this voice that frightened him so.

Now I want you to go around the house and straighten up. This place is a mess.

Even as he did what the voice was wanting him to do, something started to surface in the back of Willy's mind that made this encounter all the more disturbing. This was far too much like the circumstances of his mother's disappearance.

The voice laughed. I see you're starting to connect things. Good, good. I was hoping I wouldn't have to explain myself later.

"You mean you were the one who-"

Took your mother? Killed her? Ripped her body to pieces and buried them all in separate graves miles apart so they would never be found and, even if they were, not identified as part of the same body because by then, all the flesh would have been gone?

Willy shuddered and the colour started to drain from his smooth, olive-toned face. Just the thought of anyone being capable of such horrors made his stomach turn. Then he took a deep breath to calm his nerves, letting it out as slowly as he could. He still had the fire-poker in his left hand, but something told him that it would be useless against this foe. "Why did you kill my mother?"

"I wanted to."

The sudden audibility of the voice, a rich yet icy feminine sound, made Willy scream and swing the fire-poker wildly. It connected with something, but Willy never saw what because the poker was torn from his grasp just as the lights in the room went out. It was very dark now and just a pale fuzzy outline could be seen of a tall figure standing across the room from him. Willy was completely vulnerable now and the only thing he could think of doing to protect himself was to crouch down low to the ground and crawl to the nearest wall.

"As I said before, there is nothing to be afraid of."

"Oh," Willy asked as sarcastically as his fear would allow. "And why should I not be afraid of you, when you will most likely kill me?"

"Because it is only your body that dies. Your mind will continue living."

"But how is that possible? And how can you speak in my mind?"

"I shall tell you when this is all over. You will be able to do it too, once I have taught you how." The voice was now directly behind him.

Willy was about to scream when something cold that felt very much like a dead body pressed up against Willy's back. This sudden cold made Willy draw in his breath sharply. The contact was so much more intimate than anything he'd felt before, he had to bite his lip to keep from moaning. 'But if this is a dead body, then wouldn't my reaction be considered necrophilia?'

A pair of hands that were equally as cold as the body wrapped around Willy's chest, one reaching up to unbutton his shirt. The other held him in place so lightly, yet with such force that there was no possibility of escape. Willy could feel the strangely warm breath of his captor on the back of his neck as his shirt was removed and dropped to the floor. His heart pounded in his chest as one of the icy hands tilted his head to one side and back a little.

"Relax. Do not be afraid, Willy. Everything will be alright in the end," his captor whispered. Delicately, she licked and then kissed the pulse point just below his jawline, as if trying to soothe and prepare him for the death that would ultimately come.

Willy took a few deep breaths and closed his eyes. 'If this is my time to die, then let me die quickly,' he thought.

This is not a time to die. It is a time to live. I am sorry to say the process will not be quick, his captor said once more in his head, before a sharp pain in his neck caused Willy to let out a strangled scream and struggle against the arms that held him in place.

He felt as if his heart would burst, so great was the pressure placed on it as something seemed to be draining him of blood. He tried to take in breath and scream for help, but found that his lungs would no longer inflate enough for him to make a sound. Just when he thought that he actually would die, the pain stopped and he felt himself being turned around to face his captor.

He still could not make out her face, but all he could think about in that moment was how incredibly thirsty he was. His left hand, though weak, came up and brushed against the soft skin of his captor's throat. He could feel her pulse much easier than he could before. Perhaps this is what happens to those who are about to die?

"Willy, you know what you must do. Do not waste time." Her voice was soft, not as icy as it had seemed only moments before.

Willy hesitated as he stared at his captor's neck, just barely visible in the dim light. "What will happen to me when I do?"

"It will begin the process that will slowly turn you into what I am. If you want to die, then by all means, I can leave you here. But-" Her voice cut off as Willy latched onto her throat, piercing the flesh with the barely-formed fang teeth in the upper part of his mouth. There were no words between them for a moment, only the rustling of clothing as their bodies shifted and the faint sound of Willy swallowing mouthfuls of hot, near scalding blood.

When it seemed he could take in no more, Willy pulled back and breathed in deeply. He felt drunk and yet, at the same time, more lucid than he had ever been before. "If this is what being dead and being alive is truly like, I don't know why I ever feared it," he said, taking a step back and promptly stumbling. He would have fallen if his burgundy-haired companion (for 'captor' no longer seemed the correct word) hadn't caught him.

"Not so fast, Willy. You're still too weak to be making any sudden moves. It will still be several hours at least before you can move about as you wish. Come," she said, wrapping one arm around his waist. "Let me take you somewhere you can rest. You will need all the sleep you can get. When you wake, your new life will begin."