Sleep was as impossible as he knew it would be, but as soon as the acrid odor of the tea he'd made hit his nostrils, Dr. Wonka knew he'd made a mistake. Instead of being a calming libation, it proved the trigger that ended the suspense as to whether or not the reheated dinner would stay down: it wouldn't.

Fleeing from his humiliating, painful prostrations at the porcelain altar, Dr. Wonka splashed his face and rinsed his mouth with cool water from the kitchen sink, dabbing his face dry with the thirsty dish cloth. Feeling better, he held his breath, retrieved the offending mug of tea from the table, and dumped the contents down the drain. Good riddance. His arms locked at the elbows, his hands spread wide holding the forward corners of the sink, Dr. Wonka leaned over it weakly, watching the tea swirl away.


Passing the dining table on her way to her bedroom, Nora snagged the ruby-swirled, creamy dessert and spoon left for her, even as the grandparents snuggled down in their bed. Georgina was already snoring away happily.


Happily, the last of the tea drained away. Dr. Wonka stared into the abyss of the now empty sink, the dark drain the center of its black heart. The Boy would have known better than to make tea. He'd have done something with milk, or broth, or something else that would never occur to Dr. Wonka. Wil— Dr. Wonka bit his mental tongue, er, The Boy …was good with food that way— in a way Dr. Wonka never was, never would be, and never wanted to be.

Dr. Wonka, in those halcyon, begone days, was a busy man: he didn't have time for foolish falderal like food. Food was what rotted your teeth. Breakfast cereal was all you needed: fortified with vitamins and minerals, it was easy to serve, kept forever, and contained fiber. A person could live on it, and after Mina left the picture, breakfast cereal was Dr. Wonka's go to solution for feeding a four and a-half, almost five-year old, simply and quickly—no muss, no fuss—breakfast cereal: morning, noon, and most nights.

The Boy, as he grew older, had other ideas, and began to experiment with the tinned and frozen selections Dr. Wonka sometimes shared—if Dr. Wonka was in a good mood after his day—at dinnertime. Older still, The Boy branched out into fresh ingredients, with the results so tasty Dr. Wonka willing filled the grocery lists The Boy silently handed him at the beginning of each week. The scowl Dr. Wonka unfailingly put on his face as the list exchanged hands didn't fool either of them.

The corners of Dr. Wonka's mouth turned up in a rusty, miserly smile. Those were good times: he'd seen a way to bolster his fame, and instituted dinner parties. Dr. Wonka never actually said, but encouraged his guests to believe, that he, Dr. Wilbur Wonka, deserved the credit for teaching The Boy everything he knew about the meals he prepared. His deception was a huge success: Dr. Wonka heard nothing but compliments on the exemplary way his was raising his fine son, and he enjoyed to the fullest basking in the high praise his guests showered upon him in their appreciation.

The sigh that left his body as he thought over his present plight betrayed him, and having uttered it, Dr. Wonka pushed himself slowly upright from the sink. Tasty food did more than keep you alive: it gave you a connection to others. It was times like this that he missed Willy.


"Did you miss me, dear?" Nora finally had some success with her sneaking, and sneaking into her nightie, she intentionally jostled Noah awake as she slid into their bed.

With a sleepy grunt, Noah rolled over and opened his eyes, only to close them again. "Sure, dear," he managed to mumble.

Knowing Noah liked his sleep, Nora laughed. "Look what Willy gave me," she said in a rush, holding up the gold doily, unperturbed by her husband's lack of enthusiasm.

"I can't see in the dark, dear."

"It's not that dark. Open your eyes."

Noah opened his eyes and looked at the shiny doily. "That's nice, dear."

"Don't roll over, dear."

Nora's tone stopped Noah in mid-roll, but quickly chattering on, Nora put the Square Candy on top of the doily on the night table, next to the dessert she hadn't eaten. "I saw the lot where Willy's house used to be. You wouldn't believe it."

"If you say so, dear."

Nora barely heard him. "Charlie found a design of flat stones in the garden at the back. There's no obvious sense to it, but I think it means something."

Nora had said something intriguing, and Noah made more of an effort to respond. His increased wakefulness allowed him to realize just how happy he was, now that his wife was back. Propping himself up on his elbow, he started again, reaching out to stroke her cheek fondly with the back of his fingers. "I am glad you're home safe, dear."

Nora smiled, and catching his hand, kissed the heel of his palm. She understood. "Me, too. Do you know something about those stones?" Noah's interest meant he might.

"Charlie asked Willy about those stones the second Willy walked through the door with the dinner."

Nora could taste her anticipation in learning the secret. "What did Willy say?"

Lying on his side, Noah rested his head in his hand, his face the picture of philosophical contemplation. "He said sound waves need air to travel through, and the air in this room, so high up in the Factory, was very thin indeed— too thin to carry sound waves, with the sad result he couldn't hear a word Charlie was saying."

Nora sagged with disappointment. All of that was nonsense; they weren't very high up in the Factory at all, and there was plenty of air. She caught Noah's eye, and they looked at each other thoughtfully.

"That's actually a pretty good dodge," Nora finally conceded.

"Charlie laughed about it."

"Do you think Willy would mind if I use it?"

Noah rolled onto his back and crossed his hands over his chest, looking up at the ceiling. "It can backfire on you, dear. It backfired on Willy. He hadn't closed his mouth before your dear father gave a snort and said: 'Hey, Candyman, can ya hear this? 'Cause if ya can, have ya got anymore of those dragonfly nymph thingies? And if ya can't, ya won't mind me calling you 'Candyman'."

Nora laughed, but quickly put her hand over her mouth. "Dad! He didn't!"

"He did."

Her father's audacity often astounded her, and it astounded Nora now, but another one of those candies would be thrilling. The one dragonfly nymph candy her parents had eaten, half each, acted like a magic tonic on them: George felt spry and energetic, with her mother's mind restored to a semblance of coherency. "Could he?" Nora breathed, her eyebrows threatening to climb off her forehead with hope.

"Nope," sighed Noah. "He didn't bat an eye, didn't turn a hair, didn't hear him. Your father may as well have been out of the room. Willy held up his finger when Charlie looked like he'd ask about the stones again— to change the subject, I think— said louder wouldn't help, it was a wave issue, and waved the fingers of both his hands to demonstrate."

"Huh," said Nora, her hands in her lap.

"Huh, is right," said Noah.

They sat in silence, eyes locked again in thoughtfulness. Knowing how stubborn her father could be, Nora swallowed, almost afraid to ask. "Did Dad give up?"

"No, dear."

Nora bit her lower lip. No wonder Charlie worried.

"Your Dad kept it up until he got tired of being ignored. Willy doesn't give up either. Willy was about done serving the food by then, and Charlie was getting frantic. I think that's why your father stopped."

"As long as he did."

"He did," affirmed Noah. "All's well that ends well."

Noah had rolled over again, done with the story and ready to return to sleep. Nora gave him a gentle shake. "How did it end?"

"A win for Willy, of course. I said he doesn't give up." Noah burrowed into his pillow, his voice muffled. He'd seen a glimpse of the steely resolve beneath Willy's eccentric foolishness tonight, and noted that Terence wasn't surprised by it. The little smile and look Willy had given George when George finally used Willy's proper name had been the look and smile of a calculating cat, with a furry little mouse in its sights, ripe for play.

George, on the receiving end, was no fool: he'd been on his best behavior for the rest of the evening, but Noah could see being bested irked his father-in-law, and Noah wondered if they had seen the end of it.


After leaving Nora, Willy returned to the otherwise deserted Inventing Room to put the finishing touches on the project he'd been working on in the interval between the dinner ending and Nora returning. It was a small thing, but after what he'd listened to at dinner, Willy wanted it done by morning.

Eshle had kept an eye out for him, promising to sound the alert when Nora returned, and he had. Willy thought afterward Eshle had toddled off to bed: but no way, here he was again, silently awaiting notice in the semi-dark, cavernous room. Willy noticed, and half turning from the table, he raised a questioning brow, the small shaping utensil he was using poised in his hand.

"Kelii thinks we may have something on the radar."

Willy stood silently for a moment letting the statement sink in, the implement in his hand still poised. Though happening sooner than he expected, the development didn't surprise him. It was probably too much to ask that the town leave him be if he was out and about in it. Silent a moment more, Willy was aware Eshle was trying to gauge his reaction. No fair leaving him wondering: with a weak smile Willy put the utensil down, placing an enameled cover protectively over the tiny project. This was one occasion where being right didn't make him happy. Exchanging his lab coat for his frock coat, Willy beckoned to Eshle as he donned his top hat. "Come on, then. Let's see what we've got."


What we've got, thought Terence, feeling grouchy and tethered, prowling the area around the Bucket house one last time—still sure there was something amiss, and still not finding it—is a house moving project that needs to get finished yesterday.


"What we've got is this," indicated Kelii, motioning to the screen before him.

Willy peered over his acting head of security's shoulder. The Oompa-Loompa assigned to the night shift sat beside him, one of the best, but with this odd development, he had called his boss.

The room the four occupied was long and narrow, with no windows, but filled with screens monitoring the perimeter of the Factory, and other key points. Originally designed as a cloak room for large groups, it had been easy to re-purpose as a security center. Located one floor up, over the Factory's main entrance, from here, the person manning the facility might easily greet the rare visitor, without disturbing the work of the rest of the Factory, which also made it convenient. Spiral staircases on either side of entrance hall gave access from the vestibules.

Kelii, sitting at the control center, a panel of monitors arrayed around him, pointed to the center screen, its displayed picture selectable using buttons on the panel at his fingertips. Willy had a simplified setup—fewer monitors—that mirrored this in his office, except if needed, the controls in his office overrode these.

Having evaluated the image, Willy straightened up. "Why show me? Call one of the shelters." The blob he saw lying on the bench across from the Factory looked homeless to him. At least the offender wasn't using the bench favored by Terence and Charlie earlier in the month.

Willy had a strong aversion to seeing people with no home to go to that made it his policy to anonymously call, and anonymously fund—very generously—a variety of shelters, half-way houses and care facilities in this particular town, thus making it easy for those who wanted help to find it without involving the area around the Chocolate Factory. Those who didn't want help avoided the Chocolate Factory environs assiduously, its reputation notorious that an annoying do-gooder would descend upon them to disturb their peace just as they were getting comfortable. Willy, unaware of his Factory's reputation among the—scarce through they may be—independently minded indigent, wouldn't have cared if he had known. Helped or not, Willy only cared his policy nicely achieved his goal of no visible reminders, and it did.

"He does look homeless," agreed Kelii, "but with his car parked on that side-street, I'm thinking he's a fake." Kelii pushed a button, and an image of the offending car popped up on an adjacent screen.

"'Kay, then," said Willy, eyes going wide, then narrowing. "That's different. Run the plate."

Kelii manœuvred his mouse, and the image magnified. "Can't. The license is covered with road salt and mud, and we can't read the number."

Willy could see that was true. "Darn." Thinking for a moment, he smugly sashayed down the line of equipment and picked up a phone, holding the handset like an extension of his finger. "I can fix that!"

"Who are you calling?" Kelii asked, as he and Eshle exchanged glances. Willy usually avoided the phone the way Oompa-Loompas avoided Whangdoodles.

"Terence, of course," Willy chirped brightly. "I told him not to go back to his flat tonight." He turned back to the phone and punched in the number, chanting not so softly under his breath, "Nyah, nyah, na, nyah, nyah, now I get to wake him up."

"You won't, though," predicted Kelii, nothing wrong with his hearing.

The phone was ringing and ringing, and as predicted, went unanswered. Willy held the device away from his ear. "Because…"

Kelii exchanged another glance with Eshle, who shrugged his shoulders. "He's not there."

"Because…" drawled Willy.

"Because he's at the Bucket house."

Miffed, Willy replaced the handset in its cradle. "Why, pray tell, is he there, and what, pray tell, is he doing?"

Three sets of Oompa-loompa eyes met his. "We don't know," said Eshle. "He's your tribe. We thought you sent him there."

Dismayed, Willy sank onto the edge of the shelf that held the equipment. "Not me." The Bucket house was unreachable by modern methods. Ancient methods, like walking, got that job done, but there was no need to walk down there, this was about the blob's car. There was no need to go farther than it, and Willy sickeningly suspected he'd been selected to check it out.

There was silence whilst everyone else in the room gave Willy the chance to come to grips with the prospect. With Terence unreachable, Willy was exactly right.

Willy stirred, looking back at the three with narrowed eyes, his mouth curled into a sly, suspicious smile. "How do we know Terence is at the Bucket house? I don't have any cameras anywhere near the Bucket house."

Eshle poked the floor with his foot, and Kelii and his associate kept their eyes glued on Eshle.

Willy could guess, and it tickled him. "Come on, you guys— give."

Eshle obliged. "Kelii hacked into the town's CCTVs. They've got cameras down there."

"Are they on to us?" Willy's eyes were wide, his question earnest.

"I going with 'no'," responded Kelii. "I'm using a spoofed IP and pinging the signal all over the globe. It would be hard for them to pin down where it originally comes from, but the key is being in and out of their system before they even know we're there."

Willy rubbed his hands together. "Then wonderful— aren't you clever! Extended range— with no added cost! Isn't that delightful!" His smirk was infectious. "As one of the citizens who helped pay for those things, I'm sure the town doesn't mind our making the most of our investment." Cheered, Willy got back to his feet. "Especially if they don't know we're using it. I can't imagine we'll need it often."

"And the car?"

"The car." Willy grinned at Eshle. Who knows when they had drawn straws, or when he, Willy, had drawn the short one, but he obviously had, and anyway, it didn't matter. He'd been the one muddying the waters: bringing the outside inside his dear Factory, and it was only right he'd be the one to investigate what he'd stirred up. It might even be fun—nah, it wouldn't be fun, but whatever—he'd make the best of it. "Eshle. I'll need my great-coat, a hat I don't wear, a heavy scarf, and," Willy held up his Nerd filled walking stick, "a walking stick not this one."

"We have everything ready next to the door," said Eshle, gesturing, "including a choice of hats."


Oompa-Loompas should have jungle-y sounding names, so, based on the 2005 movie as this is, for the acting head of security I went with 'Kelii', a variation of 'Keli', which is a variation of 'Jerry'. dionne dance: Thanks so much for your review! If quirks of fate interest you, you might be interested in 'Til There Was You. Quirks of fate abound in that movie.

I do not own Charlie and the Chocolate Factory in any of its many forms, and there is no copyright infringement intended. Everyone, thanks for reading, and please let me know what you think.