Adrenaline leaving him with every step, with every step, the reaction to the night's events sunk in. The Factory had never looked so welcoming, so comforting, and the reassuring beacon of its stacks were what gave Willy the energy to reach it. He'd love to slip through the front gates, cross the courtyard and collapse on the steps, kissing them with relief, but such a scene was not to be: wouldn't be pruuu-'ent. Hang prudent! But it would be a silly thing to do, regret soon eclipsing relief, for all the attention it would bring him, as afterward it was bound to do. So showing admirable restraint, when Willy mercifully reached the corner of his Factory, he turned decorously down the side street, and ambled along, taking note of the streets he needn't cross spewing their traffic at him, his factory the end of their roads. Reaching the street that paralleled the Factory's back, he turned down it, and upped his pace. A third of the way along that, in one of the many niches that the masonry wall boasted on this side, he slipped from view.

Less than a minute of hocus-pocus later, now on the other side of the towering wall, Willy found the pouch containing the lavender hazmat suit he had stashed there earlier. Donning it over all he was wearing, the two hats-he-didn't-wear relegated to interior pockets, he reached for another pouch, and snapped the collapsible top hat it contained into action mode, popping it on his head. It was an important step. How else, hermetically sealed from head to toe as he was, would the Oompa-Loompas know it was him? Grinning at the absurdity, he crossed the yard, and eased through a door, to find himself met by two diminutive hazel hazmat suits, waiting for him, hardly able to conceal their joy.

"Stop that dancing," said Willy, laughing, activating the mike with a button on the suit at his collarbone. "I told you not to wait up."

"We couldn't not wait," said Doris, activating hers, her extreme fidgeting subsiding. Willy was kind to call it dancing. "We weren't sure—" She suddenly knew there was no graceful way to end that thought.

"That I'd survive? That I'd find my way back? That I'd return in my right mind, whatever that is? Is that what was worrying you?"

She nodded, laughing and crying, but mostly crying. Her mike wasn't pressed, so her secret was safe.

"I told ya not ta worry. I've been out in the world before, before I knew you guys: lots; Lots and lots. Thank you for taking precautions, but don't get near me, I've been to germy-germland, as you know, as germy as it gets, and how disgusting is that? I am now hastening to my room, where I am going to shower for an hour." Rather than reassure them, that news seemed to upset them more. His room was off-limits, and that meant they were as cut-off from him as they were when he was out of the Factory. "Don't worry, scaredy-cats. I'll survive that, too. Water doesn't melt me, not even hot water; not even scalding water."

The comment failed to bring the expected change in the tension level, and Willy, fighting his weariness, paid more attention. They were upset. Putting himself in motion, each step taking him closer to his goal, the Great Glass Elevator call button, he contemplated the situation. Doris and Eshle jogged to keep up, with Eshle yet to say a word. That was worrying. With consternation, Willy pressed the button.

"Eshle."

"Willy."

"Is the Factory still running?"

"Of course!"

"Then ya better go catch it!" Willy paused, eyes agleam, waiting for the chortle. Nothing. "Ha, ha! Ya get it? Ya gotta go catch it, cuz it's running?"

"That's a silly joke, Willy," said Eshle, not mollified in the least.

"As silly as your concern, my dear fellow. I'm fine; I'm finer than fine; I'm a filament! But not a filament of your imagination!"

Eshle had at least recovered enough to use complete sentences, but this had been hard on them, something Willy hadn't stopped to consider. He'd make it right by resuming routine. "I'll be back after said shower, and after I take all that I'm wearing under this suit, and this suit, to the incinerator. 'Kay? An hour-and-a-half, tops, but not," Willy bowed, "top hat, or top cat, or top that." Sleep would have to wait. "Where d'ya want me?"

"Your office," keyed Doris, like a shot. "There's a mountain of paperwork, and if you want to keep this Factory running, you'd best see to some of it."

The Elevator arrived, and Willy stepped in, singing nonsense.

"I will; I will; so long; farewell, to you and you, adieu ... 'Parting is such sweet sorrow'. Willy said that; Shakespeare, I mean."

The Elevator zinged off, and pulling off their helmets, Doris and Eshle exchanged a glance.

"I told you he shouldn't go," said Eshle. "When do you remember seeing him this exhausted and hyper, all at the same time?"

"Not since we were setting up the Factory," answered Doris. "And I should have listened."


"Hello, squirrels, did you miss me?"

Willy held out his arms, and walking into the midst of the Nut Room, every squirrel in the place leapt off their stools to swarm all over him. It was a ritual. They were great little climbers, and their little feet against his clothes in random patterns was most intriguing. They loved hickory nuts, and as he didn't use squirrels to shell those, he always brought loads when he visited.

"I know, I'm hard to resist, with my pockets full of hickory nuts. And I mixed in some peanuts, fer variety, cuz I like variety, and peanuts, and I know you like 'em, even though they're not that good for you. They're not in shells, so that takes care of the mold issue." And Willy smiled, because a few of the braver ones had already invaded the pockets where they could fit, and were chomping away. "You're ruining my clothes. Peanuts aren't really nuts, you know, they're legumes. I can see you don't care. Let me make this easier for you."

Removing the sacks and spewing their contents, Willy divested himself of the nuts and not-nuts, and explained himself further to the cheerful squirrels, intent as they were on stuffing their cheeks.

"I'm here to borrow your direct line to the incinerator. This hazmat suit, with all it has in it, is nearly the size of Veruca Salt, and as this worked out so well for her, I thought I'd re-live the moment. You don't mind, do you?"

They didn't. With the booty he'd brought scattered in the semblance of a line on the floor, Willy, a known good nut, was forgotten.

"Didn't think so."

With a long look into the dark pit of the chute, Willy let the bundle drop.

"Good riddance, to you, clothes I used to visit daddy dear with," he whispered, making a show of wiping his hands. "Though we part forever, a warm reception awaits you. I happen to know the incinerator's set on high today."


Throwing open the door to his office, in pile after pile, Willy could see a mountain of paperwork stacked on his desk. What with the Buckets moving, and Dede sickening, it had been days since any real work had been done.

"Avalanche!" Willy called, as he crossed the floor.

"Don't you dare!" Aghast, knowing he would dare, Doris leapt up to stand on the cushion of the armchair she was in, her arms flailing a desperate NO!

Willy laughed, and retracted the arm he had readied to send the lot flying to the floor. "Is any of this critical?" He was his dapper self, in top hat and frock coat, both a happy peacock-blue, with his trusty candy-cane walking-stick held as though it were sweeping all obstacles out of his path. His hair was still damp.

"That pile, the one front and center," said Doris, subsiding, wondering if the pulls she saw in the fabric here and there, were from the squirrels. That Salt girl hadn't stood a chance, what with Willy loving having those squirrels run all over him as he did. As giggly as it made him, it must tickle. Doris wondered why he might have gone there before coming here, but then remembered the contaminated clothing, and that direct route to the incinerator: functional and fun at the same time: that was Willy.

Willy plunked himself down in the chair at his desk, picked up the pointed-out pile, and dropped it on the floor.

"This is not critical," he said, head bent. "This is critical."

Willy pulled open a side drawer and took out a sheet of vellum note paper, his trademark 'W' in purple, centered at the top. Next he found a fountain pen, and in the space he'd cleared, he dashed off a note. Sealing it in an envelope, he threw it across the desk to Doris.

"It's critical this reach Gertrude. I don't know her last name, it wasn't on her name tag, and her ID wasn't where I could see it. She was the nurse taking care of Dede last night. The hospital will know. Send her a bouquet of the exotics, with my compliments."

Doris fingered the note in her hand. The exotic flowers were as delicious as they were lovely, with none of the flavors shared with the public. Gertrude had to have done something right.

"A big bouquet, or small?"

"Big," said Willy, turning his attention to the carpet. "I liked her attitude. It should bury her desk, the way these papers have buried mine. I may as well detonate the disruption the hospital expects. Why disappoint them?"

"Because you'll get her into trouble?" offered Eshle.

"There's a thought," answered Willy, reaching for the pile he'd dropped on the floor. "On second thought, make it a bouquet of tasteful size." He giggled, shooting the two of them a merry glance. "Pun intended. I shall work now."

Willy read over the reports, requests, and invoices, signed what needed signing, conferenced about what needed conferencing—with Eshle joining in when concerns overlapped—and with the bottom of the pile reached, declared that that was all of that type of work he was doing for the day.

"Bucket Report?"

Eshle spoke from memory.

"George has gone to Terence's shop, Noah is at the toothpaste factory, Georgina is investigating the glade, Joe went with her but got sidetracked, and is napping under a mushroom, Josephine is crocheting in bed, and Nora is straightening up the house after seeing Charlie off to school. Charlie went to school."

"That, I know. Does Josephine ever get out of that bed?"

"Not if she can help it."

"Weird." Pause. "If Nora essays another foray, come and find me. I have a bone to pick with her, and today, I shall escort her back myself."

Eshle shook his head: Nora and her foray. Yesterday, she'd let herself out of the Chocolate Room by one of the side doors near the chocolate fall, wandered for over an hour, mostly in circles, and had finally parked herself on the floor, holding up a sign she'd brought with her, made from cardboard and crayons, that read: 'LOST'. Kelii had alerted Eshle. Eshle had alerted Willy, and Willy, getting a gander at the sign via the surveillance screen, had lost it.

'You mean she went out PLANNING to get lost?' he'd exclaimed, incredulous.

Kelii and Eshle had burst into laughter.

'What?'

'You're one to talk. I think it's fair to say, in a Factory this size, that she doesn't know at all, with no guide, that she might have ANTICIPATED that she might get lost.'

And Willy had seen his error, and laughed with them, because it was the same with the brats, he hadn't had to plan a thing, only anticipate, and with their traits, two plus two equals four, always has, with no gyrations necessary to get that result; but it was a fine line, and easy to blur.

'Shall we go and get her?' suggested Kelii, sobering up.

'No,' said Willy, after considering. 'She ventured out. We'll show her she can venture herself back. It will show her Charlie won't get lost, either. Dim the lights in the corridor, and let her follow the neons in the ceiling. Turn them on and off, as if they are motion activated. She'll figure it out, and if she doesn't, why then, that will tell us something about Mrs. Bucket, won't it?'

They nodded, and flipping switches, they did, and that did: it told them Nora had no problem following lights.

"Will you be easy to find?" asked Eshle.

"Should be. From here, Inventing I will go. I have a modification in mind for the eatable pillows. A firm but open mesh, so you can't suffocate; by accident, or otherwise."

"Or otherwise?"

With a glance at Doris, Willy otherwise ignored her, the slight made possible by Eshle's speaking over her.

"Suffocate?"

"Suffocate. Children will be using them."

Willy stood, but hesitated. Doris was tired of sitting on her hands. There was an elephant in the room.

"You've given us hints. Can we ask?"

"About suffocating? I believe I've been clear." But Willy was beaming, as if the sun were burning a hole through his pocket.

"About the hospital," said Eshle, taking a breath. "How'd it go at the hospital?" As boring as he made it sound, Eshle might have been asking Willy about the weather.

Willy sat, relieved. Like unwrapping a present before it was time, he hadn't wanted to broach the subject himself, but his friends knew him well, and had done it for him. "Good," he said, the desk he was sitting at, solid, and protective. "I'd say smotheringly successfully, and not just because one of those words has the word 'mother' in it." The sun went out, and his eyes narrowed, his lips pursed. "I saw Dede." Willy would have liked to say more, but he discovered the words refused to form. Speech had left him. Reviewing the encounter, his face clouded, the seconds ticking by. In the end, all he found he could say was this: "Dede thinks he'll see me again, but he won't."

The Oompa-Loompas were sorry they'd brought it up.

After a minute more of silence, Willy's face relaxed, his eyes becoming soft. He'd shared his secret with Charlie. He'd share it with Doris and Eshle, his trusted friends. The sun came out again. "I came across a photograph of my mother while I was there."

Doris, watching the weather changes, smiled at the tenderness in Willy's voice, her smile covering her face, and then her entire body. "May we see it?"

"You may."

Taking a felt-lined silver case from the pocket of his frock coat, Willy carried it to where they could see it, seating himself on the sofa. Hopping off their chairs, the two gathered 'round him, and he opened the case. There lay the photo, fragile and old, but there was Willy's mother's face, as alive to Willy as any of theirs.

"She's beautiful," said Doris.

Eshle nodded.

"She is."

With something in his eyes, Willy closed the case and returned it to his pocket. "There ya go. Are you two really cousins? Now that ya mention it, I can see a sort of family resemblance." And then he burst into a fit of giggles, at least one of the reasons for the outburst obvious to them all. Oompa-Loompas looked notoriously alike. Jumping to his feet, Willy smiled. "Run the Factory for me, dear ones. I'll be around."

They watched him go, saying nothing until the door had closed, waiting to be sure it wouldn't re-open, three minutes later. You could never tell with Willy, and there was no point being overheard.

"Smotheringly successful? Suffocation?"

"He explained that," snapped Eshle.

"I don't think so. I think that was a red gobstopper. The cousin comment definitely was. No more questions from us about his family. I won't ask any. I'm sure I don't like his father, with the things he makes Willy think of. What, in heavens, is 'or otherwise'?" Doris hunched her shoulders, suddenly cold. "At least he's not so hyper."

"Of course he's not, the nervous energy is wearing off. He's about to drop. Why is he going to the Inventing Room? That idea will keep." Eshle was up and pacing now. "His mother's in a hospital bed."

"It's an old picture," said Doris, attempting to soothe. "I'm sure she's not there still."

"I know that, but what does that matter? That picture raises more questions than it answers. And you know he's shining it on for us."

"I do know that, don't use that tone with me, but that picture only raises questions for us; maybe that photograph answers questions for him. And he seems so happy to have it. Nasty father, or no, Willy's going there was worth it."

Was it? Pensive, Eshle stopped his pacing. Doris was right about one thing: Willy was beside himself to have that photograph. Eshle relented.

"You may be right, I suppose. And I'm sorry about my tone, I'm just anxious. All these chores, every one of them a chink in our smoothly running Factory, piling up on top of each other, like your papers: his father, that hospital, those germs, these unknowns wandering the Factory, these walks he's taking outside of it; it's unsettling me. Willy can't be liking it. But you're right; even with as unsettled as it's made him, he did the right thing."

"I told you so," said Doris, as she slipped off the sofa. "Like my papers, it's all being dealt with. His father is seen, the hospital is sorted, the germs are ashes, the lesser-knowns are nice, and Willy will cope. He always has. He was coping when he found us. Let's let him get on with it."

Doris had a point, and Eshle nodded his agreement. What could go wrong now? The father was seen, and everything was settling.

Satisfied Eshle was seeing it her way, Doris took the portable step-stool that gave her access to the desktop, and began collecting the papers from Willy's desk. He'd said they should run the Factory, and run it she would. She could forge Willy's name as well as he could write it—they both knew it—and for today, for these remaining, routine papers, he had given her tacit permission to do it.


The "Wizard of Oz" references continue, a modified lyric from Robbie William's song "Handsome Man" appears, likewise a lyric from, "So Long, Farewell" of "The Sound of Music" fame, and you may remember colorful lights in the corridor ceilings from one of mattTheWriter072's stories. My inspiration for those was not that, but the neon lights sported by the ceiling of the tunnel between terminals B and C at Chicago's O'Hare airport. They are quite something. Thank you for reading, following, favoring, and/or reviewing. Those forms of feedback are ever appreciated. I do not own Charlie and the Chocolate Factory in any of its many forms, and there is no copyright infringement intended.

Squirrela: Thank you; I hope you found as much to enjoy in this chapter as the last, and that the mention of your namesakes in this, the squirrels, tickles your fancy. Linkwonka88: Yeah, aren't those old shows just a scream? Batman was some serious camp. Thanks for your views. Sonny April: Willy's voice is a dead give away, or so Charlie has said, and I think that's what tipped her off. But it is interesting to think that there are indeed people in town who must have known Willy when, and I don't half wonder if after he fired half the town, that wasn't one of the reasons he decided not to cross the Factory's threshold again. Thanks for your thoughts. Dionne Dance: I can just see Willy, thinking Home Ec would be the easy A, and Mrs. Stemple doing him the favor you bring up, in making sure he broadened his horizons. Willy and Charlie do reflect well off each other, to their benefit, as your reviews benefit this story. Thank you.