Nimble fingers reached towards the buttons that would put the Great Glass Elevator back in motion; just before he pushed them, Willy's fingers curled back against themselves, his hand withdrawing, his hesitation plain.

"We're not going?" said Terence, perplexed. "We should."

Willy cocked his head, considering.

"They see us. It'll look like I'm running away. They're working hard down there, not hardly working. They deserve some recognition."

"Later?"

With Felix no longer in sight, Terence was itching to know who this high-end stalker might be. Who it was who was stalking him, at his shop, where Mr. Stalker would find only George. The culprit, or culprits, may well be the people on the other end of the phone line this morning. Not finding him there—their supposed eyes and ears—would they appreciate the disappointment? Terence pulled himself out of his speculations. Willy's face was glowing blue, and so was Charlie's. A strange reaction to a question, but then, it wasn't a reaction: it was an effect. Everything facing the top of the hill was glowing blue. Terence swung his head. The blue lights unveiled by Willy last night were back in action, the Factory bathed by their illuminations.

Willy smiled. "Eshle wanted to know if he could turn them on again." Noting Charlie's grin, Willy nodded to himself. "From now on, I'm going to turn them on every night. It's not like people don't know I live there. And they know about the Oompa-Loompas now. Why keep up the low profile? Lights don't change that ya still can't get in, if I don't want ya in." Standing back, Willy paused, uncurling his index finger and placing it on his jaw. His next words were soft indeed. "Present company excepted, of course."

Terence, moving his arm across Charlie's shoulders, bowed. Charlie, taking the cue, did the same. Willy hardly noticed, and cared less. Letting his fingers drop to the glass at his waist, a smile of rapture graced his face."Don't they look magnificent?"

Terence had to smile at the dreamy delivery. "The Oompa-Loompas?"

"No, silly, the lights—" but whatever else Willy was going to say was lost in a flurry of action. Leaping forward, his fingers were flying over the buttons, and the Great Glass Elevator was climbing, soaring over the buildings below them, cutting the corner to reach Terence's shop. The white lights along the Factory wall had clicked on as well, but it was the searing white and blue lights of an ambulance's flashers that had Willy's attention. Careening down the hill, it had zagged onto Terence's street, its siren unheard over the Elevator's rockets. Willy was sure it was wailing.

Altitude told the story Willy feared. The limo was gone, replaced by the waiting ambulance, the attendants already up the paltry steps, the door left open, the light within streaming onto the street. While his passengers gawked, quick movements of his head betrayed the darting of Willy's eyes behind the dark lenses of his goggles. Where to put the Elevator was the question now: In the street? On the roof of the shop? On the roof below them? Willy was thinking the worst, which was the worse for thinking—not conducive at all!—and before he could decide, the worst happened. A sliver-haired figure, slender, and large enough to be a man, was being carried on a gurney from the shop.

"Oh, look," breathed Willy. "I've killed George. Do you mind, Charlie? He was old, you know."

Not sure if he'd heard him right, Charlie shot a glance at Willy, but not for long. Was it really his Grandpa George being carried out by those men? It couldn't be! But it might be. There was a chance. Charlie's hands went to the glass, flattening themselves as he pressed them against it, struggling to see. And then he sighed. The vapor of it fogged up the glass for a minute. It wasn't his Grandpa George! Hooray! He unglued his eyes from the side of the Elevator, his hands relaxing. It was impossible to make out the features of whoever it was from underneath the oxygen mask strapped to his face, but Charlie didn't have to.

"That's not my Grandpa George, Willy! There's my Grandpa George!"

And it was true. There was George, emerging like an apparition from the interior light, following the gurney down the steps, his mouth moving and hands gesturing with the eager ticking-off of all the things these people aiding should be doing.

Willy, seeing it was so, puffed his cheeks like a prairie chicken, letting the air out with a whoosh. Phew! That bullet dodged! He smiled warmly. "Oh, goody! Then let's park on Terence's roof and watch the rest of the show."

The rest of the show was Felix, hustling up the street, waving his arms and shouting. He couldn't be understood of course, but whatever he was shouting earned him a spot in the ambulance, next to the stricken individual being loaded into it. Just before he was gone from view, Felix glanced up at the Elevator still hovering above the street, a sly grin splitting his face.

"The Blob must know stretcher-man," observed Willy. "What is this smirk at us for? Am I the only one who thinks he looks like a poorly carved Halloween pumpkin? Look away Charlie, that man seems to know only one gesture. Which isn't surprising, as dull as he looks. Ew… look at that! Not you Charlie. He's switching it up. Using two hands. Deary, dear."

George had seen them by now, there being nothing wrong with his hearing, and he was gesturing wildly that they land on the street. That sealed it for Willy; Terence's roof it would be. Willy was still maneuvering when sirens blaring, the ambulance pulled away, and by the time he hit the button that would open the Elevator's doors, George was opening the door that led to the roof. The show was over.

"Ding," said the Elevator.

"Didn't you see me waving at you down there, Candyma— uh, Mr. Wonka?" said George, hopping mad at having had to climb the stairs, but deciding at the last second he'd best not be rude. A week ago he wouldn't have been able to climb those stairs! Hell! This morning he'd doubted he could do it, but after Willy Wonka's magic whatever it was in those dragonflies he made… "I wanted you to land on the street!"

"I can't imagine why," sniffed Willy. "This thing is hard enough to see in the daylight. We might be hit by a car, or some other something down there, and we wouldn't want that now, would we?" His lips were a thin line, the stare of the goggles impersonal.

"Darn tootin' we wouldn't, but—"

"Then wonderful, Charlie is here to bring you back to the Factory. Your better-half wants you."

George cocked his head at the last, thinking that in future he'd better watch himself with his 'candyman' sobriquet. The tone, and Willy's phrasing, including the lack of a 'we', stood out. Still…

"Not in the contraption, thank you very much. That thing is higgerdy-jiggerdy. It can't be trusted. I'd rather walk. Charlie, get out of that thing this minute!"

"Suit yourself," said a glacier, "but I must be getting back. Charlie?"

Charlie hung back. Willy was holding out his hand, an indication that Charlie should go with his grandfather, but Charlie didn't want to go with his grandfather. His grandfather had been rude, and judgmental, and he was like that a lot, for no reason, and it shouldn't be encouraged, and he was wrong about Willy, and the Great Glass Elevator, and trusting, and his mother and father knew he was with Willy, and this wasn't the first time he'd been in the Great Glass Elevator, and they were just back from almost being in SPACE! for gosh sakes, what did his grandfather know, and… And… And if his Grandpa George wanted to walk, he could jolly well walk by himself! Charlie wanted to stay with Willy.

Terence, watching Charlie's mobile face wheel through its kaleidoscope of emotions, could imagine his thoughts. The crossed arms and planted feet left no doubt. George, by turning this into a matter of trust, hadn't helped himself any. In a blink, claiming the gesture meant for Charlie for himself, Terence slipped through the Elevator's open doors.

"Why, thank you, Willy," said Terence, on the way out, "don't mind if I do. Good idea, George, let's walk. You can show me what you've done with my shop today, and Charlie and Willy can fire-up the welcoming committee for when we get back to the Factory." Terence turned back, raising his voice. "That okay with you guys?"

Charlie's head might snap off from the nodding he was doing, and Willy, stepping back, had already pushed the button that closed the Elevator's doors. Taking his elbow, Terence herded George out of the way, and the Elevator was off, the both of them hunching as they sought shelter, their hands held over their ears. Stinging dust and grit blew in whorls around them.

"Couldn't he wait until we got back inside?" grumbled George, opening his eyes when the gale subsided.

"Apparently not," said Terence, pulling the door to the roof closed behind them as they went through. He paused before starting down the stairs to give George the once-over. "You get that you bring a lot of this on yourself, right? Willy's a lot of things, but thick isn't one of them. What you dish out, he'll serve back. Do yourself a favor. Be polite. You don't have to like him to do that."

"I like him," said George, but the look in his eyes said he'd never really considered the possibility before. Before, Willy Wonka had always been the competition: the story Charlie wanted to hear before bedtime; the person Charlie thought about as he fell asleep. It was tiring going along with that every night, when you wished in your heart that person was you. But it must be so: times were tough, and dreams were needed, so he'd kept his resentment to himself. Joe's worshipful stories were about all the family had to offer Charlie dream-wise: happy little stories, about happier, bygone days. If George weren't living it, it would be too much to believe the happy little stories had turned themselves into odd reality. Perhaps he should consider how he felt about it. Unexpected smoldering resentment wasn't doing him much good; with Willy Wonka, or with Charlie. They had reached the landing. It was time he put the ball back in Terence's court.

"I can tell you I don't like your other friend," he mumbled, as they started down the next flight of stairs.

Terence, in the lead, raised a brow. "And which other friend would that be?"

"That smart-ass who pulled up in the limo, treated me like a servant, and left in the ambulance you saw."

Alert, Terence slowed. The limo and the ambulance might have been two different people. Willy must think so. The limo was gone when they came upon the scene, and as far as the ambulance went, knowing it hadn't been for George was all Willy had cared about. George's intel would change that.

"My friend? Has he a name?"

George scowled at the question. "Fat lot of good it did me, if he does. He wouldn't say. Said you two went way back… said telling me would spoil the surprise."

"Huh. Do I like surprises? I take it that didn't make you happy?"

"He had a way of talking that made my skin crawl. And I didn't believe a word of it."

"Why not?"

"He called you Terry. Said he wanted to see Terry. Went on and on about where was Terry? When would Terry be back? Why didn't I know? What good was I? Said he wasn't budging. Said he'd wait all night, if that's what it took. He's why I didn't leave. He wouldn't leave. I was locking up when he got here. I asked him who the hell Terry is. He looked at me like I'd slapped him. It took me a minute to figure out it was you." They'd reached the back of the shop. George stood up straight, proud of himself. "If he called you Terry, Terence, I knew he couldn't possibly be your friend."

The observation pulled Terence up short. George zigged not to run into him, his piercing eyes in their wrinkled sockets cutting into Terence's clouded face. Terence felt the burn, and quickly recovering himself, laughed.

"Everyone calls me Terry, George. It's just Willy and folks I've met through him who don't. Your mystery man could be anyone. My God, look what you've done with the place!" Terence strode out into the shop proper, spreading his hands. The shop was immaculate; everything organized and arranged.

"Eh, don't look too closely around the edges," said George, letting Terence's diversion slide for the moment. "There's only so much an old bag o' bones like me can do in a day."

"I won't look there at all! The only way I avoid clutter is by having nothing in the first place. You're welcome to fill in here any time, George. This shop was getting away from me."

George frowned, taking that claim with a grain of salt. True, Terence didn't seem like the retail type, but George doubted much got away from him, either. George re-locked the back room with the keys Terence had given him in the morning, while Terence explored a bit more. Finished, George waited by the door.

"Any clues to report, Sherlock?"

Emerging from around a display, Terence shook his head, smiling. "There's no fooling you, is there? I'll warn Willy. But I'm afraid not. Ready? You can fill me in on my friend the medical-emergency on the way to the Factory."

With a grunt of agreement, George opened the door to the shop and started out. And then he stuck his head back in.

"Would you have gone back in that glass contraption?"

"In a heartbeat," said Terence. "Why?"

"Because maybe we should have. There's another one of those black cars coming up the street, and it looks like it's going to stop right here."


Thank ye. Perchance a review? I do not own Charlie and the Chocolate Factory in any of its many forms, and there is no copyright infringement intended.

Squirrela: It took me a minute, but I caught up with you vis a vis the last minute change in description. Terence was almost onto something, eh? Thanks for your review. linkwonka88: I can't think Willy will be in the dark for too much longer about that limo. Thanks for your interest. pseudosavant: Me, too… Swudge… is there anyone hearing that name, who wouldn't want all they could get? Look at Augustus… Or maybe don't. His manners leave room for improvement. Thanks for your comments; I'll continue to continue.