A/N: As scarce as my updates have been, I should tell you that since May, the lights I've seen at the end of the tunnel have all been trains. The last one was an Express, and it hit me hard, and fast— flattened me really. Reading and reviewing—among other things—has helped get me back on my feet. And now, still unsteady, here we go… when we left off, Willy had turned out the lights...
Willy's face faded into darkness, taking Dr. Wonka by surprise. Having retreated from the kitchen to his surgery, he sat up in his patients' chair and looked again, his breath catching in his throat. Where the face should hang there were only shadows. The indistinct, out of focus visage the photographer's camera had no business trying to capture in the first place was gone from sight. Scarcely believing it, Dr. Wonka's eyes flicked to the window. The glow was gone. The lights of the factory were out, and dawn was still hours and hours away. That could only mean something bad had happened up there, and that could only be good. Rubbing cold, worn hands together, Dr. Wonka rose from his creaky leather chair, cackling with glee.
The exterior lights went out and Nora giggled. She hadn't quite finished the delicious dessert, but she didn't need the disappeared indirect light to dig the last spoonful of it out of the bottom of the shot glass.
She'd wanted to go on talking, telling Noah about her meeting with Willy, but Nora could tell by his monotone, barely more than monosyllabic replies that she was being "yes, dear-ed", and she let it go. Noah wanted to get back to sleep, and she let him. It wasn't his fault she was so keyed up, and the story could wait till morning. The last coherent thing Noah suggested before rolling over and burying his face in his pillow was that she try the dessert.
Nora tapped the tiny spoon on the rim of the shot-glass and the little eyes on the Square Candy turned to the noise. "You think so, too, do you?" purred Nora as she picked up the glass. "Well then, I guess I just will."
Two wide, thin curls of glistening shaved chocolate sat on top of the delicacy, against all odds looking fat and juicy. Nora had never seen chocolate so dark: those curls might just as well be polished onyx. Remembering being told Willy had eaten only those, Nora started with them. The taste was not what she expected. It was bitter. As bitter as a taste could get, and still be something you'd want to eat. It was like a dare, this almost pure chocolate, and it brought to mind something people forgot: by itself, chocolate is bitter. Nora wondered, if she continued, what awaited.
Plucking up her courage, Nora dipped her spoon into the creamy whiteness, leaving the ruby swirl for later. When its cool, crisp taste touched her tongue, memories of her own sweet childhood flooded her brain, the earlier bitterness shoved smoothly back, like a wave spread too thin upon the shore, spent, and retreating into itself. Nora flashed back—far back—back to a time when a happy little girl didn't know troubles existed, and snow wasn't anything except a beautifully magical delight; a time when every snowflake seemed as big as a pancake, the tracery of its crystal design an easily seen masterpiece, exquisitely beautiful. The taste took her back to the times she would rush outside and lift her head to catch those flawless flakes on her tongue—too special to touch with anything else, they were—their secret magic becoming hers the moment they dissolved in her mouth. This cream was those snowflakes, transformed and made sweet. With eyes closed, Nora smiled. The curls of chocolate were counterpoint, making the luscious sweetness sweeter still: very clever of our clever Chocolatier.
Opening her eyes, Nora dipped her spoon into the swirl. The swirl was warmth: sweet and tart and tangy and hot: it was the fire you returned to when the magic of the snow was too much to bare anymore: it was the sunlight you stepped back into on a temperate Summer's day, after standing too long in shadows.
With its warmth suffusing every part of her, in tingling waves Nora's tensions melted away, radiating outward like sunlight rippling across sparkling water, itself rippling, breaking upon the shore. Her last desire to find fault with the maker of this confection, on the ebb already, rippled away with them. Letting the spoon droop in her fingers, she closed her eyes for the second time. The feeling was heavenly, and Nora moved into it unreservedly.
No wonder there's so little of this she thought, when she could think again. Very much more, and you might never return from this nirvana.
Steadying herself for the full effect, Nora took proper hold of the spoon and sampled both tastes together—the crisp cool of the cream, the tangy, subtle heat of the swirl—the warmth and flavors blending magically. She let the spoon droop again, fully savoring the sensations of pleasure before they faded. Scenes of Noah and herself in carefree days of courtship conjured themselves in her mind's eye, a swirling slide show of happy memories. If ever a lover's look of fondness could be given a taste, this would be it.
It was then, with that thought drifting around her head, the lights blinked out and Nora giggled. Hastening to finish the last of the treat, she was ready to give herself over to the sleep the darkness made irresistible. Willy had turned the Factory lights on for her. Now that she was back, he had turned them off. Putting the empty glass aside, Nora nestled down into her pillow, fluffing the covers over her. The sleep that beckoned her would be deep, she knew, and dreamless, and while she welcomed it, there was one last thing to tell Noah before it faded from her mind, and was forgotten.
"It's all alright, Noah dear." Nora's voice was a thin whisper, the sleep overtaking her garbling her words, making her tongue feel heavy. "Willy… couldn't've... saved us before. He was busy... saving himself…" Her own peaceful yawn interrupted her. "…And the Oompa-Loompas."
Noah, on the edge of consciousness, heard, and opening his eyes, held his breath to hear more.
"But now he has."
Noah moved closer, but that was all Nora had to say. A gentle sigh escaped her lips as she unconsciously curled her arm across her chest, her expression one of dreamy satisfaction. Smiling tenderly, Noah kissed his sleeping wife's cheek. "Don't be silly, Nora dear," he murmured softly into her gentle breathing. "Charlie saved us."
Charlie woke when the lights went out, and he wondered what it could mean. He'd jumped up excitedly earlier in the evening when they flooded on, running over to the bed and grabbing his Grandpa Joe's hands, pleading with him to go out and look.
"You can see from the window, Charlie," his father intervened mildly. "It's late, and you have school tomorrow. Don't pester your Grandpa Joe."
Joe was already out of bed, standing in his nightshirt, chomping at the bit like an excited racehorse. "Grab your coat, Charlie! Grab mine! I want to see 'em, too!"
They'd fled the room on a rising crescendo of tittering and muttering from the others, ending with: "How will they know where to go?"
Charlie smiled in the darkness. Nearly out the door, he'd heard his father's answer, and he played it back in his mind, re-living the thrill of the vote of confidence. "Charlie will manage." And he had. His smile widened. It was easy: the Great Glass Elevator knew where to go, and he, Charlie, knew which button to push. Puffed with pride, when the Elevator arrived he'd frowned, though, and rather than step into it, he'd caught his Grandpa's sleeve. "We'd better not." It was his Grandma Georgina's sing-song contribution to the clamor catching up with him that changed his mind: "I love crowds!"
Willy hated crowds, but he had turned on the lights. Leading his Grandpa Joe back to their rooms, hand in hand, Charlie stood with him at the window. Grandma Georgina had nailed it. There were crowds all right: pointing and staring. The Factory must look more beautiful than ever. Charlie watched the ensuing commotion in silence for almost five minutes. "You never told me the Factory could light up like this," he finally whispered to his Grandpa Joe, wishing he could see it for himself.
His Grandpa Joe had waited, and sighed, and then softly squeezed Charlie's hand. "It's been years. I forgot it could."
His grandfather forgot. How could you forget something as awesome as that?
Unsettled by all this, from long habit Charlie rolled over to look through the hole in his roof at the reassuring sight of the Chocolate Factory. The Factory had watched over him all his life, and though Charlie never told anyone he thought that, whenever he was unsure, or scared, or worried, he looked at the Factory on the top of the hill, and knew everything would turn out alright someday. How could it be otherwise, with something as gloriously marvelous as Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory sitting practically on his doorstep? It was all you ever needed to see to know you could make your dreams come true.
Looking, Charlie's eyes had adjusted enough to the darkness to see only ceiling, and he scrunched the covers around his chin with his fingers, laughing inwardly at himself. How could he forget he was in the Chocolate Factory? Instantly forgiving his grandfather his omission, Charlie wondered if not being able to see the Factory, he could feel it. Lying quietly, he found he could. It felt like a sleeping friend, but the energy level seemed wrong— like a piece of it was missing.
Uncertainty tickled Charlie anew, fingers of anxiety picking at him though he tried to brush the feeling away. Were the lights turning off something to worry about? Tonight had gone so well. Willy had told stories like one of the family, and the dessert had been scrumptious: cool and crisp and bitter and sweet and underneath it all warm and comforting: eating it reminded Charlie of the way his family was with each other: teasing and happy, sometimes worried and angry, but always with love underneath.
Willy had made that, and shared it with them, and afterward, for the first time in Charlie's life, turned on the Factory lights.
It all made Charlie dare to hope Willy was on the brink of accepting Charlie's little family, but now the lights were off, and Charlie was back to feeling the way he had since they'd moved into the Factory: like a fish, in a plastic bag, floating on the top of the water in a tank that was supposedly their new home. Charlie'd seen that at school when his teacher had put some new fish into the classroom tank. His teacher had gone on about the water temperature needing to adjust before he let them loose, for their own good, but Charlie just watched the fish. Staring out at their lovely new home, they bumped themselves against a barrier they couldn't see, but was there nonetheless. Did it make the new fish feel as shaky as Charlie felt? In those minutes it took to finish adjusting, it would be as easy to take them out, as to let them swim.
Felix didn't know whether to stay put or swing up off the bench and investigate. The lights were off and darkness ruled. He listened for the tapping of the old geezer while his eyes adjusted to the dark. The old dude couldn't have gotten far, but Felix heard nothing. The dude had vanished. Felix stayed as he was. That guy wasn't his problem.
Black-on-black is very black, and these shadows were black indeed, but were they very black enough? Willy, at the right hand corner of the gate complex, pressed himself into their depths as best he could, knowing it would take more than shadows to remain unseen. He knew full well there was no real cover where the wall arced out from the gates except these shadows, and that, deary, dear, wasn't much. To stay hidden, he'd have to stay still, in mind as well as body. That was no big deal—he could do that—and here was where he wanted to be. Be. Plan B. It was sooo hard not to laugh… just a little giggle? Nah. Focus! Statues. The good news was, if he was right about the effect of the lights, it wouldn't be for long.
dionne dance: Willy does like his fun. This night is such a turning point for so many people, I'm loathe to leave any of it unexplored. Felix will have to wait till I can circle back.
Holy cow, holygoatlaugher, thanks for the herd of reviews you've heaped on my story; I'm heartily happy to have them!
I do not own Charlie and the Chocolate Factory in any of its many forms, and there is no copyright infringement intended. Thanks for reading, and please let me know what you think.
