I do not own anything from Charlie and the Chocolate factory. All rights and likenesses belong to Roald Dahl, Johnny Depp and Tim Burton. No profit is being garnered from this work. Thanks to the Olympics, the media attention on the factory is starting to die down (that and the last three reporters who attempted to sneak in coming back stinking of bubble gum and rotten fish as a stomach-churning perfume). Tupik-Ra is somewhat disappointed since half the fun we were having consisted of a betting pool with various methods for getting in. – Stealth Phoenix
Chapter 48
Veronica reached her apartment in record time, slamming open the door and grabbing her messenger bag, coat and making sure she had enough money for the cab before charging out again to head to the hospital.
As she opened the door to her building, she noticed a yellow envelope sitting on the stoop. She absently picked it up as she frantically waved a hand, trying to flag down a taxi on the busy street between the factory and her building. It took jumping up and down waving before one slow to a stop before her. Veronica threw herself inside.
"Charing Cross Emergency Room," she said shortly.
The man took one look at her pale face and turned to face her, "Here, you're Veronica Carmichael!"
"Very good – you see me. Please hurry, my family is hurt," Veronica snapped.
As the cab pulled away from the curb, the driver said, "Fancy having you in my cab. What's it like inside the factory? Is Mr. Wonka as strange as he seems?"
She ignored his questions to stare out the window, trying to keep the tears at bay. She sniffled once and the driver took the hint and fell into silence, coaxing a bit more speed out of the old cab.
I hate this. I hate having to see Reggie and Spencer like this. I hate having to go it alone…
Thinking back on Willy's stunned expression and his distant look of panic when she asked if he would go with her to the U.S., she sighed heavily. The feeling of hurt and abandonment just wouldn't leave her alone no matter what she did trying to be rational about it.
Get used to the idea – Willy's a good friend, but he's got his own problems to deal with first.
"I'm sorry. I don't mean to be rude. I'm just terribly worried," Veronica said, still staring out the window.
"S'alright love, You look a bit distressed and I'll leave you alone. It's just that I've dreamed about seeing inside that place my whole life – and to actually talk to someone who's been there..." The driver shot her a quick smile tinged with wistfulness
She turned her attention to the driver for a moment and offered a watery smile.
"It's magical. Take your wildest dreams and turn them free and that might encompass a fraction of what Mr. Wonka's managed to create. As for the man himself…," she returned her gaze out the window sadly.
How could she summarize such a bundle of contradictions that made up Willy Wonka?
"...He's magical too," Veronica whispered.
Her hand brushed up against the package in her lap as they whizzed through the tight confines of the city streets heading for the carriageway heading into London. Veronica glanced down, surprised. She'd honestly forgotten grabbing it in the first place.
She used one finger to ease under the flap and rip open the envelope, peering inside. There was a piece of white paper and a stack of a few photographs.
Strange.
Veronica's breath caught in her throat and her hand flew up to her mouth as she read the letter in rising shock.
"Watch your back, bitch. You're next."
Shaking, she set the letter down to look at the Polaroid pictures. Various shots of her entering and leaving her building, all hidden surveillance and candid shots. One was even of a hand reaching out, almost touching her as she passed unaware – emphasizing how close he had gotten without her notice.
The last two were of Reggie and Spencer as they walked outside their building, laughing at something and carrying bags of groceries.
They had the current date – about two hours ago.
Veronica must have made some sort of noise because the driver was peering into the mirror and asking, "Miss? You alright? Do I need to pull over?"
Terror warred with need. Someone was stalking her – someone who had just put the two closest people in the world to her in the hospital, probably following her right at that moment.
Should she head back to the factory and hide, letting Willy take care of it?
A dull anger grew at that thought.
No, Reggie and Spence need me.
She shook her head, "No – please keep going."
Someone is toying with me, and I don't think I like it very much, she thought, growing anger and frustration forcing her mind into motion.
She studied the paper, ignoring the trembling in her hands. Plain bond computer paper, found anywhere, the printer was computer too – although she was no expert, she could tell the difference between a typewriter with its indentations on the back side of the page from a printer.
There were more hints in the pictures, things like angles, the tattoos on the man's hand as he reached out to touch her, the clothes he wore – all of this and more could be analyzed to figure out who was doing this.
Veronica carefully slid the paper and the pictures back into the envelope with the tip of one fingernail. She'd call Detective Cavenaugh from the hospital to turn this over. He had better resources and experts at his disposal to dissect the evidence.
She was through with running to Willy Wonka when things got rough.
Her heart ached with the choice. She wanted to run and hide, to stay safe in his sanctuary for the rest of her days, ignoring the trials and travails of the outside world. She felt safe with him and content in his arms. She loved the wacky Chocolatier with all her heart.
He was also a flawed human being with problems of his own. He'd let the fear dominate him into hiding away in his factory. That was a battle she'd gladly help him fight when the time was right, but it had to be on his own terms when he was ready – not because of her own selfish need to have him near when she got frightened.
She was on her own.
The hospital was up ahead, she could see some news vans already parked on the street and reporters gathering outside to carefully inspect everyone going in and coming out.
Veronica groaned at the sight, "Crap. How did they find out so quickly?"
"Trying to duck the press?" the driver asked, glancing into the mirror.
"Yes. My brother and his partner got attacked outside their apartment and were rushed here. I need to get inside…" she muttered.
She was startled when the driver thrust a watch cap and scarf through the window at her, "Here, put this on and stuff your bag under your shirt like you're pregnant – I'll drop you off as close as I can to the door and call for a wheelchair for a lady in labor."
Surprised at his gesture, she took the items. "Thank you! Why are you helping me?" she asked gratefully, stuffing the envelope in her bag, jamming it under her shirt to don the disguise.
"It's not fair you should be harassed like this when you're so worried about your brother. Anyone who Willy Wonka trusts enough to bring inside his factory is trustworthy enough for me," he said.
"What's your name?"
"Mike…Mike Lansborogh."
Veronica made a mental note to find a way to repay this kind man for his generosity. Such kind acts in a cruel world were more precious than gold.
"Mike, thank you from the bottom of my heart for your help," Veronica said with a smile, pulling on the watch cap and ensuring no hair stuck out. She handed the fare over to him with a hefty tip.
The cab pulled up to the hospital entrance on a circular drive with an ambulance marked "Emergency" in bright red letters. Mike pulled the cab up as close as he could get to the door, honking the horn urgently.
A few of the milling media watched with disinterest as he hopped out shouting, "Here! There's a lady in labor over here. Her water broke – she's gushing all over the cab."
A man in scrubs trotted out and brought a wheelchair, "Let's get her in this and we'll take a look at her inside."
The door opened, and she hesitantly emerged, holding her bag against her stomach awkwardly. "Ooh! Aw, God it hurts!" she moaned, not sure the appropriate level of screaming for someone in labor. Veronica snuck a peek at the waiting crowd of press – no one even blinked.
"Don't worry, love. We'll take care of you," the man in scrubs said calmly, helping her sit and flipping the footrest closed.
She waved to Mike as she was wheeled inside, "Thank you!"
The doors closed with no more than the usual amount of attention paid to someone coming into the ER.
Veronica was wheeled up to an admission desk and the large Indian nurse sitting behind the desk asked, "So what are you here about this evening?"
"My brother – Reginald Carmichael?" she asked, standing up and removing the hat.
"You're not preg…Ah, yes. I see, quite creative Ms. Carmichael," The nurse said, turning to her computer with a quick grin.
I guess there is some benefit to fame, Veronica thought.
She frowned at the information pulled up on the screen, "Your brother is currently in surgery. If you'll take a seat, I'll page the doctor to have someone come fill you in. In the mean time, could you fill out some paperwork for him?"
"What about Spencer Talbot? He's my brother's partner and I'm listed as his next-of-kin"
The nurse typed again and studied the screen with a careful blankness, "He's listed as critical. Ms. Carmichael, please have a seat and I'll get someone to come talk to you about both of them."
Having no other option, she turned to look for an empty chair in the crowded waiting room.
"Ms. Carmichael?" asked a familiar voice in the hallway behind her.
Veronica turned to see Detective Cavenaugh and two uniformed officers approach her.
"Detective - are you here about what happened to my brother?" she asked quietly.
"Yes. I managed to interview your brother before they wheeled him in for surgery," the gruff man said, indicating for her to follow her to an unoccupied treatment room.
"What happened? Do you know what's wrong with him?" she pleaded for more information.
"Three men jumped out of a white van and attacked your brother and Mr. Talbot. They left some crushed up candy at the scene before hopping back into the van and escaping. Mr. Carmichael managed to get a partial plate and we're running it – somehow I have a feeling that it'll come up as stolen though." Cavenaugh said, taking a seat wearily – he was still jet-lagged from his trip to the states. The dark circles under his eyes told Veronica that he was running close to empty.
"The candy…it was Berry Bling wasn't it?" she asked flatly, getting a sinking sensation in her stomach at the news.
"Yes. I'm guessing you know something," Cavenaugh said, pulling out his notebook and clicking his pen.
Instead of responding, she pulled out her bag and surrendered the envelope to the perpetually rumpled man, "This was on my doorstep as I left for the hospital. The pictures of me were taken this week as I went about my errands. The last two of Reggie and Spencer were taken a few hours ago."
Cavenaugh was silent as he studied the note and pictures.
"They were stupid enough to take the pictures – and this one of his hand…I'll send it over to forensics and we'll be able to use this to nail the bastards. Who else has seen this?" he said finally, returning the contents to the envelope.
"Just me. I opened it in the cab on the way over. Who's doing this?"
Cavenaugh was silent, lost in his thoughts and Veronica had to throttle her impulse to yell, scream and throw things around to get the answers to who was haunting her and harming her family.
"When are you heading to the states to testify?" he asked suddenly.
"I was thinking about leaving Sunday, why?"
"I just got back. The yanks left me with the impression that your old friend Brahm has more connections under the table than over. I'm wondering if this attack may have originated with him." Cavenaugh said absently.
Thinking back to her nightmares and the fact that Willy had confirmed that Victor had been present, Veronica shivered with visceral fear.
"When you head over, I think you should bring company to watch your back. You'll be heading in onto his home turf."
She nodded sharply, "I will. I also refuse to let that bastard scare me off."
"Good. I wish more people were like you, Ms. Carmichael, we'd put more criminals behind bars and hopefully keep them there. I'm sorry your brother and Mr. Talbot have been injured – I hope they pull through alright. Let me know immediately if you get anymore threats like this, Ms. Carmichael," Cavenaugh said, pulling himself to his feet and moving toward the door where the two officers waited.
"Good luck," she said.
"You too, Ms. Carmichael," said the detective, and then he was gone.
Veronica was left clutching the clipboard with the insurance paperwork for her brother and thinking hard in his wake.
--
It was past midnight now, and Veronica hadn't returned from the hospital yet. Willy wandered his factory waiting for her to return. She hadn't given him a second glance before hurtling out the door earlier and he was anxious for word of what had happened.
She had called only briefly a few hours earlier, relaying that Reggie was out of surgery due to a lacerated liver and was expected to make a full recovery. His arm was broken and a couple of black eyes and a broken nose rounded out his list of injuries.
Spencer was not faring so well.
He had been beaten into the pavement, his left cheekbone, eye socket and nose was broken and there was swelling in his brain, so he now rested in a medically induced coma to try and save his life. His hip had been broken in the initial rush when he had tried to kick one of the attackers and had his leg wrenched for his effort. Fighting only looked easy in the movies and these attackers had been professionals.
Veronica had told him that she was going to stay with Reggie until he came around. Her distant manner and cool polite tone had rankled, but Willy had restrained his temper and attributed it to stress.
Brow furrowed, he paced the long cat walks that hung above the packaging department, watching the identical boxes roll by to be loaded onto his trucks.
What had been bothering him the most was her reaction to asking him to come with her to California. When she asked, he had frozen at the thought, and he had watched her face fall. Willy couldn't stand to see Veronica disappointed. She wasn't asking for much – just a little support during a stressful time. Nothing unreasonable for a woman to ask of her lover.
So what is really the problem here? Why am I reluctant to leave the factory to go to California?
The cane made a hollow thump against the metal of the catwalk as he kept pacing.
"I'm not afraid to leave the factory – I've done so dozens of times. Why, I went after Charlie when he refused to accept the position as my heir initially. It's ridiculous to believe I'd exile myself in here for the rest of my life," he said as he walked, the fluorescent light overhead interspaced with pockets of darkness. Even he had to admit to himself that his voice wasn't convincing.
So what bugs me about going to California?
…Leaving the safety of the factory and having it outside his range of retreat.
Since it had been closed, Willy had only left the factory for more than a day only once – when he traveled the world for more than two years shortly after the doors had closed to outsiders for the last time. Even then, it had been a persistent thought in his head. In his dreams, he had seen visions of his wonderful factory – calling to him, begging for him to return home and give it purpose.
When he had made the decision to look for an heir and found Charlie, the day when he actually turned over operations to the boy had always seemed far in the future – years from the present.
Now he really had to wonder.
Was he really needed at all?
Willy had to face a hard truth, Charlie was growing up and becoming more proficient by the day. Thanks to his careful training, the dark-haired teen was tending and caring for his beloved factory in a more than satisfactory way. It wasn't inconceivable for him to leave his apprentice in charge for a few days for an overseas excursion – it wasn't like he was disappearing off the face of the planet or anything.
"Okay – so I know things won't fall apart here if I go. So why do I feel like if I leave, it's the end of the world?" he asked himself, slamming the packaging room door and strolling back to his room, still lost in thought.
His workers, used to these moods from their employer, simply veered around him to continue in their work. The factory ran 24/7 and away from windows, it was nearly impossible to tell what time it was.
Willy found his mind wandering back to the condition of Reggie and Spencer. They had opened their home to him and offered him their support as he had made his honorable intentions toward Veronica clear. He found their open manner and unassuming attitude refreshing and discovered that he liked spending time in their company - quite a change from his normal reclusive behavior. To think that they had been so savagely hurt – it made him feel angry and helpless to offer them assistance after all they had done for him.
Wait a minute…
Willy froze as a sudden though hit him. A pallet pulled by a small motorized cart veered at the sudden stop, the sharp angle tipping the pallet, throwing bags of gobstoppers to the floor and splitting open with a horrendous clatter. Small gobstoppers rolled in every direction on the slick surface and the cries of other Oompa Loompas as they were tripped by the candy filled the air.
He was indifferent to the chaos around him, to the small bodies gathering the thousands of candy balls as they escaped. A solution had come to him…an elegant solution to help the couple that had brought he and Veronica together.
Willy broke out of his thoughts with a sudden grin.
It would work, it was a perfect solution and it could work!
He took a purposeful step, intending on heading down to the village to collect his special recipe notebooks from safe-keeping with Mi-Ka when his foot hit the gobstoppers. He was thrown high into the air and came down hard on his back, crushing several of the candies under the weight of his body and leaving spectacular bruises as he would discover later.
His head knocked hard against the floor and Willy saw stars for a long moment. When his sight cleared, five small faces stared down on him in concern.
"Ow…" he groaned attempting to sit up. The world swum sickeningly around him and he carefully moved one hand to test the large knot on the back of his skull.
"Won-Ka! Are you alright? Do we need to get Dev-On?" asked the deep voice area supervisor.
Willy sagged back as his stomach lurched and his sight started to grow dim once more. This wasn't the first time he'd been knocked out, as accidents did happen in his factory.
But so exasperating when this happened to him!
"Um…yeah. It might be a good…"
The blackness claimed him.