New chapter, just like I promised. Unfortunately I don't know if the next chapter is going to be coming same time next week or not. I had to take a step back from everything for a few days and it's set my schedule just as far back if not more.

The crack of gunshots startled me off the couch.

"While the rest of the world goes on searching, here in the Southwest it has actually happened," said a news reporter.

I realized it was all on the television. I picked myself off the floor of my apartment.

"That's what I said, friends. There's only one Golden Ticket left in the entire world because right here in our own community of Marble Falls, Arizona, is lucky winner number four. Now, the name soon to be heard around the universe is Mr. Mike Teevee. Hey, Mike, do you think you might shut that of thing off?"

Sitting on the couch was a boy dressed as a cowboy and he was focused on watching the Western program on the television.

"No, are you crazy?" Mike said.

"He won't answer you 'til the station break," said Mrs. Teevee, unbothered by her son's behavior.

"Mike, the country wants to hear from you; the world is waiting."

"Can't you shut up? I'm busy." Mike turned to his mother. "Boy, what a great show."

"I serve all his TV dinners right here," Mrs. Teevee said proudly. "He's never been to the table."

"You love to watch TV, Mike?" asked another reporter.

"You bet," Mike said.

Next to Mrs. Teevee was Slugworth, posing as a reporter. He pointed the microphone between people with a flick of his wrist.

"What about that Golden Ticket, Mike?" asked a third reporter. "That what we all came to hear."

"Hold it! I wanna catch this," Mike said loudly.

"You like the killings, huh?" asked the second reporter.

"What do you think like's all about?" Mike asked.

"Mike, would you tell us -."

Mike whipped out a shiny pistol and fired at the television. The gun only gave a loud pop as it was a toy. He looked at the gun. "Wait 'til I get a real one. Colt .45. Pop won't let me have one yet, will you, Pop?"

Mr. Teevee smiled at his son and shook his head. "Not 'til you're twelve, son."

Slugworth put the microphone down and pulled Mike over to whisper into his ear.

"Yeah, plan on giving that kid a real gun after that display," I muttered sardonically.

The station switched back to the news room.

The news anchor placed a number marker on the map.

"Four down, and one to go," he said. "And somewhere out there, another lucky person is moving closer and closer to finding the last of the most sought after prizes in history. Though we cannot help but envy him, whoever he is, and we might be tempted to be bitter in our losing, we must remember there are many more important things-many more important things. Offhand I can't think of what they are, but I'm sure there must be something."

"Ha! I can think of a few things," I said. "How about teaching your kids that reality isn't the same as television? Maybe caring about your husband who's being ransomed for your last case of Wonka Bars? People's actual lives who might have gotten ruined because of this Wonkamania? There's a few for you."

I turned off the television.

There was nothing new on the easel, but there was a slip of paper next my paints. It was a receipt of sale. I sold one of my paintings. A Mr. Wilkinson had purchased Springtime Tea Set for quite the chunk of change.

I put the receipt down and went to bed.

When I came around to awareness again, I was sitting at the kitchen table with a wad of money in my hands.

"That's it, that's it!" the news reporter cried out. "It's all over! The Wonka Contest is all over! The fifth and final ticket has been found, and we've got a live report coming in directly now from Paraguay, South America."

The camera switched over to the Paraguay reporter.

"Ladies and gentlemen, it is finished. The end has come. The fifth and last Golden Ticket has just been found right her in Paraguay. The finder is lucky Alberto Miñoleta, the multimillionaire owner of gambling casinos throughout South America. Here is the most recent picture of Alberto the lucky finder, the man who has finally put an end to Wonkamania for all the world."

"No, he hasn't," I sang, counting the money into two piles. I was going to give some to the Buckets. It wasn't like they were going to need it in the end, but it was the thought. My plan was that I was going to walk Charlie home and give it to Mrs. Bucket, but not before Charlie found the real last Golden Ticket.

The world shifted and I was now standing outside of Charlie's school. The kids were just leaving. I looked for Charlie in the crowd. He was one of the last to leave. He had his hands in his pockets and was looking down at the ground.

"Hey."

Charlie looked up. "Martha? What are you doing here?"

"I figured I'd walk you home," I said. "You don't have your paper route today, do you?"

"I do," said Charlie. "Sorry."

"That's fine," I said dismissively. "I'll walk you to get your papers and then I'll walk to your house."

We walked together, Charlie with his head down.

"How was school?" I asked.

"Fine," he said, but he didn't sound convincing.

"Learn anything new?" I prodded.

"We learned percentages," Charlie answered.

"You don't sound very excited about that," I said.

"It would have been fine," Charlie started to say, but he stopped.

"What happened in class, Charlie?"

Charlie licked his lips. "Mr. Turkentine taught us about percentages today. He used the example of there being only a thousand Wonka Bars and asked us how many we opened during the contest. He showed us how the number of Wonka Bars we opened was turned into a percent. The other kids opened a lot of bars."

"Were you jealous of the other kids?" I asked.

"No," Charlie denied. "It would have been fine if Mr. Turkentine didn't call on me. He asked how many I opened. I told him two. He thought I said two hundred and I told him it was only two."

"You told the truth," I said.

"He wanted to know why I only just two," Charlie went on. "I told him I didn't care very much for chocolate. He said he couldn't figure out just two, so he did it for two hundred."

"And you were embarrassed. I don't blame you for not wanting others to know that your family's poor."

Charlie nodded.

"Your teacher shouldn't have done that," I said. "And it's 0.2%."

Charlie looked up at me in confusion. "What?"

"I said your teacher shouldn't have asked you why you only opened two in front of the entire class and the answer of two out of one thousand is 0.2%," I repeated.

Charlie gave a small smile. "Maybe you should be a teacher, Martha."

"No," I said quickly. "You I can handle. Other kids, just no."

We kept walking, Charlie with his head down.

"Why are you walking with your head down?" I asked him. "You're going to walk into something."

"I'm looking for dropped coins," said Charlie. He stopped. "Like this one."

I turned and saw Charlie kneeling over a drainage grate. He reached in and pulled out a coin. He turned the coin over in his hand.

"What are you going to spend it on?" I asked.

He looked at the candy store down the street. "I want to spend it on a chocolate bar."

"Then spend it on that," I said.

"Are you sure?" Charlie asked. "I could put this to food for the family."

"Spend it," I said. I leaned down. "I wasn't going to say anything to you, but I sold my one painting. I'm going to give some of the money to Auntie."

"But, Martha," Charlie started to protest.

"Spend your money," I told him. "If anything, think of it as a reward for being a good sport through this Wonkamania mess."

We walked into the candy store together.

"Get whatever you want with your money," I said. "I'm going to look around to see what all they have. I think I'll grab something for the family. Let me know if you see something they might like."

Charlie walked over to the man behind the counter. His name was Bill if I remembered correctly. I only half listened to their conversation as I looked at the different candies in jars. Maybe that's what my next painting would have been if I stayed in this dream longer than I planned.

I felt a tug on my sleeve.

"I'm going on my route," Charlie told me. "I got a Wonka Bar for Grandpa Joe."

"Be careful," I said. "Did you see anything else the family might like?"

"No," Charlie replied.

"Okay, I'll see you later."

Charlie walked out the door.

I glanced over and saw Bill watching him leave. I moved over to look at the candies kept behind the counter.

"I've never seen that boy in here before," Bill commented almost absently. "He usually looks in the window."

"My cousin," I told him. "He had a little pocket money he wanted to spend here. How has business been?"

"Well with this Golden Ticket thing over, things are going smoother," Bill replied. "I had to hide all my Wonkas to keep from getting overrun. Nothing else sold during the contest."

"I haven't been to get any kind of candy since this all started," I said. "Too much of a hassle even to get something that wasn't Wonka. You wouldn't happen to have any fudge, would you?"

"Sure," said Bill. "It's not Wonka, but I have some Fickelgrubers."

"It'll do," I told him.

Bill rang me up for the fudge and handed the package to me. He looked over my shoulder out the window.

"What on earth is going on?" he asked.

I turned to see people running down the street to the newspaper stand. One side of my mouth creeped up in a half smile. Charlie must have unwrapped his Wonka Bar. I tucked the fudge in my purse and stepped outside.

There was a group of people gathered around the newspaper stand.

"Did you see it?"

"I did! It was gold!"

"The kid found it!"

I pushed my way through, looking for Charlie, but he was nowhere to be seen.

"Mr. Jopeck!" I called.

The elderly man who ran the newspaper stand looked at me.

"Where's Charlie?" I asked.

"He found the Golden Ticket!" Mr. Jopeck replied. "I told him to run home and not to stop until he got there."

"Thank you!" I turned and ran in a different direction, deciding to go around the block to make sure people didn't follow me.

After running around the block, I ran the path I thought Charlie took to get home. I knew he turned left at the end of the block. After that I wasn't so sure. I started looking for land marks from the movie. I recognized the arches of a concourse he ran through, so I was on the right track. I then found the stairs he ran down and the workman's sign at the tunnel. I made a quick right, passing a man in a black suit and hat. It was another right on the other side of the tunnel and then just a little further. I saw Charlie's blue sweater ahead of me and I followed him the rest of the way back to the house. I was right behind him when we reached the door.

Charlie threw the door open. "Look, everybody!" he cried out, slamming the door behind him and almost taking me out. I pushed my way inside as he held up the ticket. "I've got it! The fifth Golden Ticket is mine!"

Grandpa Joe looked at him in disbelief. "You're pulling our legs, Charlie. There aren't any more Golden Tickets."

Charlie all but ran over to the bed. "No, Grandpa, the last one was a fake; it said so in the papers. I found some money in the street, and I bought a Wonka Bar, and the ticket was in it."

"Charlie!" Mrs. Bucket exclaimed to stop her son from rambling.

"Look at it, Grandpa, see for yourself!" Charlie handed him the Golden Ticket.

Grandpa Joe read the ticket. "'Greetings to you, the lucky finder of this Golden Ticket, from Mr. Willy Wonka. Present this ticket at the factory gates at ten o'clock in the morning of the first day of October, and do not be late. You may bring with you one member of your own family but no one else. In your wildest dreams you could not imagine the marvelous surprises that await you!' Charlie, you've done it!"

"I can't believe it!" cried Mrs. Bucket. She reached over and took the Golden Ticket from Grandpa Joe so she could see for herself.

"Grandpa?" Charlie said. "It says I can take somebody with me. I wish you could go."

Grandpa Joe smiled sadly. "I wish I could go with you, too. But we both know that's not possible."

I looked at Grandpa Joe with some surprise. He wasn't going? No, no. He was supposed to be trying to get up and walk right now.

Grandpa Joe saw my expression. "Don't look so surprised, Martha. You know I've been in this bed for twenty years. That is not going to change overnight."

Charlie turned to his mother.

"Charlie, I can't go," Mrs. Bucket said. "I have to be at work. It says the first of October; that's tomorrow."

"I'll take him," I spoke up.

"Could you, Martha?" asked Mrs. Bucket.

"Sure," I replied. "It'd be a tragedy if he won and didn't have anyone to go with him. If that's all right with you, Charlie."

"That'd be great," Charlie said with a big smile.

"Jumping crocodiles!" Grandpa Joe exclaimed. "The first is really tomorrow! There's a lot to do. Comb your hair, wash your face, polish your shoes, and brush you -."

"I'll take care of everything, Dad," Mrs. Bucket assured him.

"We don't have too much time," Grandpa Joe added.

"Grandpa," Charlie said quietly. "On the way home today, I ran into Mr. Slugworth."

"What did he want, Charlie?" asked Grandpa Joe.

Charlie wet his lips. "He wants me to get something from Mr. Wonka's factory; an Everlasting Gobstopper. He said if I bringing him one, he'll give us enough money to buy a house and food and -."

"It is theft and dishonest," I said softly.

"But we need the money," Charlie said.

"At the cost of being a criminal?" I asked. "This is a once in a lifetime opportunity. Do not spoil it by being greedy and dishonest."

"But-."

"She's right, Charlie," said Grandpa Joe. "Mr. Wonka is letting you in after he closed his factory because of people stealing his secrets. Don't do the same as they did."

"You're better than that, Charlie," I said.

Charlie knew we were right.

"Martha, you probably should head home and get ready for tomorrow," said Mrs. Bucket.

I nodded. "I'll see you in the morning, Charlie."

Mrs. Bucket walked me to the door. "Thank you for doing this, Martha."

"No problem." I reached into my purse and took out the envelope with money in it. "This is for you."

"Martha," Mrs. Bucket tried to refused.

"Take it," I told her. "I had a good sale, more than I anticipated. Bye, everybody!"

I made a quick exit before Mrs. Bucket could argue with me.

I walked back to my apartment. Grandpa Joe wasn't going with Charlie to the factory? I was still trying to wrap my head around it. What was all going to change if I was going in Grandpa Joe's place? Was the story going to stay on track? Did I knock the story off track?

Then I suddenly remembered my notepad. If I had messed anything up, it would tell me. I pulled it out of my purse and flipped passed my previous messages. The next page was blank. There was nothing I needed to do. In other words, I was meant to go to the factory. Which, now that I thought about it, made sense if I was in this world. I mean, why would I be here if I couldn't have all the fun that this dream offered?

"Sweet." I giggled at my own pun.

Next stop, Wonka's factory. I'm not sure if it'll be next week or the week after. I have some catching up to do on multiple stories.