Clutching his nose, the eighteenth century detective had discovered how to open the elevator doors via an almost invisible panel embedded in the right hand section of the corridor. He now found himself looking puzzled at the lists of colourless buttons lining each wall.

Ichabod straightened up, took a deep breath and pressed a switch. The rush of the elevator knocked him off his feet as it lurched downwards. Shocked out of his wits, he clung to the handrail. His eyes clamped shut.


The scene amidst the aisles of conveyor belts appeared to be frozen. Edward and Mort stood like statues; the blade of the boy's right arm still in its precarious position, the writer hardly daring to breathe for the future of his children.

William picked up his cane quietly, keeping his distance from the standstill. Mort shot him a piercing glare.

"You're thinking you can change my mind," he said. "There ain't no reasoning with me."

For once Mr Wonka didn't shiver under his gaze. Instead, his eyes gleamed with mystery and a wan smile lit his face.

"I'm not questioning that," William replied. "Not questioning that at all Mort." He emphasised the 't' macabrely. "But I couldn't help but notice earlier that you seemed to know so much about all of us and yet – how about that? – we never thought to ask any more about you. Now why d'you suppose that is, huh?"

"I figured y'all turned yellow after I disproved your existences."

"Wrong!" William chimed. "Know why? 'Cause I already know your story."

"You're bluffing," said Mort.

Wonka carefully rested a hand on Edward's shoulder, nodding to assure him he could take control. The boy withdrew reluctantly; concerned that perhaps he should have forced Rainey to drop the ripped-up lever.

"Am I, Mr Rainey?" Wonka replied in a sinister tone. "Can you afford to risk that I might be the only one who can send you back home? You got a whole lotta other people you can get violent with there. Amy, for example."

Mort looked as though he'd been slapped in the face.

"What did you just say?"

"Oh I think you heard me loud and clear," said William. "I know all about your wife, Mr Morton. She treated you pretty bad, didn't she?"

Rainey's grip on the bar tightened.

"So tell me," Wonka whispered darkly. "Did ya kill her yet? Or is your story only half way along?"

"Shut up!" Mort yelled, lashing out at his antagonist.

The chocolatier's cane blocked the attack. Edward trembled.

"Neither one of us want you to stay here, Mr Rainey," said William. "Sooner you back off, you can scoot off back to your little hut with your itty bitty computer. Who knows, maybe you'll even change your mind about killing the girl. That is if she's still among the living?"

Rainey took a few paces back.

"Won't make no difference. Amy will deserve what she gets," he growled.

William and Edward were watching Mort's weapon arm. It was shaking uncontrollably. Mort gripped hold of the arm as though it were possessed.

"Looks like someone disagrees with ya," said Mr Wonka, moving forwards as the writer stumbled back.

Rainey's rogue arm shook off the restraining hand and struck himself a blow in the chest. The writer gasped in shock and pain. Unyielding, the arm holding the iron bar once again swung inwards. It beat him backwards against the rim of a production line.

"What's happening to him?" Edward asked, his eyes wide.

"I think the real Mr Rainey wants a turn at the wheel," William answered, rapt. "All that talk about his wife must've woken him. Must be an awful thing to find half of your mind wants to kill everyone you ever knew."

Mort Rainey clubbed himself in the head and toppled onto the moving conveyor belt, utterly senseless. The chocolatier and the scissor-handed boy watched with a horrific fascination as the robotic arms plunged from the ceiling to perform. A few mechanical whirls saw Mort wrapped head to toe in shining silver foil.

Wonka grimaced and darted to the control box at the head of the belt.

"Oh dear," he winced. "Well that's not good at all."

The lever to stop the machine had been torn out. Out of the many scores of wrapping lines, Mort had managed to fall onto the very one he'd sabotaged for a weapon.

William cringed as the Whipple Scrumptious Mort Rainey Delight was smothered in a label and tipped into a waiting box. Hurriedly, he took Edward's arm and walked back towards the elevator shaft.

"Don't fret now, Mr Edward," he said as he untied the Oompa Loompa technician and helped him down. "I'm sure Mr Rainey will have enough air so long as he doesn't come around and start panicking." The predictable giggle escaped his lips.

"But Mr Wonka -," Edward started.

"Huh?"

"How do we get back?"

The boy pointed to the vacant lift space.

William turned to the ex-hostage Oompa Loompa.

"What did the blonde guy do to the elevator?" he asked.

The little man mimed wrenching the air apart, pointed downwards, then fanned out his palms as he made an exploding sound.

Wonka folded his arms.

"Well, now that's an exaggeration," he scoffed. "Sure it probably fell to the bottom but my elevators don't shatter." Wonka smirked at Edward's expression. "What? You didn't think I only built one, did ya? Mr Rainey might've thought he knew a thing or two about me, but not even he's smart enough to think I'd have two elevators running on the same track." He chuckled and pressed the caller button beside the shaft.

Edward smiled meekly. The Oompa Loompa next to him would have given up a week's supply of cocoa beans to know what the boy was really thinking.

A moment later, the second Great Glass Elevator dropped into place. The door slid open with a 'ding'.

Ichabod peered up at them from a corner, knees tucked into his chest.

"Oh bravo Mr Crane," William exclaimed. "You know how to work an elevator!"

"A w-what?" the constable stammered, white as a sheet. Too preoccupied with the thought of being sick, he was not about to discuss the idea that elevators where he came from had visible pulley systems and certainly did not travel in more than two directions.

Mr Wonka, Edward and the Oompa Loompa bustled into the lift. The chocolatier opened a flap near the doors, plucked out a clear glass telephone and flipped a switch. He raised the mouthpiece to speak.

"Heya Doris, cancel that shipment to Tokyo, would ya…?"